


building your wings (on the way down)

by 51stCenturyFox



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Time, First Time Topping, Friendship/Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance, Team Dynamics, Thundershield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have offended you, Steven?” Thor asks, as they walk up 8th Avenue under blinking lights.</p><p>“No, not exac...no. Not at all,” Steve says, watching his breath and words unfurl in the cool air. “It’s just that friends -- friends who are...men -- don’t hold hands in public. I mean, not usually.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down._
> 
>  
> 
> _\- Ray Bradbury_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 beta-read by Copperbadge. The rest self-beta'ed, because I am impatient. :D

He’s a blur much of the time -- red cape and sun-caught armor and a swinging hammer, but on days like this, Thor is just another fella, planted next to Steve in a dark blue sweatshirt eating cereal and reading about Nixon’s 1972 trip to China and that whole mess that makes up Latveria.

With Thor next to him as he pages through history on the big screen -- Tony had been appalled to find the two of them hunched over one laptop, especially “one of those piece-o’s from SHIELD, what the fuck? You’re _heroes_ ” -- Steve doesn’t feel like the only one out of the loop. The messy skein of 20th century history is even more foreign to Thor.

Today, Steve spots a face behind a rifle in an article about a political assassination in the 1970s, and the man looks so much like Bucky that Steve’s hand shakes as he blows up the projection.

“Steven?” Thor’s voice is very far away and beside his ear at the same time, and it’s reassuring, too, because nobody calls him Steven anymore except Thor, and Thor is here sitting with him at a breakfast bar in the 21st century and Bucky’s gone and even if he wasn’t he wouldn’t be there, doing that awful thing, and he’s just imagining... “Are you all right?”

“No. Yes. Just...” Steve swallows around the painful lump in his throat and turns to Thor. “He just looks like someone I grew up with.”

“Perhaps it could be?”

“No,” Steve says, his voice edging high and loud, cutting the still of the room. “The time. The- the dates are all wrong.” He feels his eyes burn and he blinks hard, focusing on the crisp, sharp edge of the table in front of them. Granite or marble or some kind of polished stone. When he looks up again, he finds that Thor has refilled his coffee, and is nudging the mug closer.

Steve accepts it, gratefully.

*

“Just...keep still,” Steve urges. Thor has donned Asgardian battle gear and is seated leaning forward, a hand resting lightly on Mjolnir’s handle.

“I am trying,” Thor mutters out of the side of his mouth.

“You can talk,” Steve says, picking up his charcoal again and turning back to the easel. A few moments later he glances over again and Thor grins at him. “But try to look serious. Solemn.”

“How is this?” Thor scowls at him, dipping his brows.

“Perfect. Very intimidating!” Steve says brightly, swiping at the paper. When he looks up again, he can see Thor is battling the urge to grin. “Hey, stop that. Look...look off into the distance.” He turns and points to a clock on the wall. “Focus on that.”

He’s working on shading Thor’s hair when he hears a sputter, and can’t help cracking up at Thor’s expression, caught somewhere between a dramatic, thoughtful pose and “something itches.” Thor glances at him, throws his head back and laughs.

Steve gives up. He draws Thor smiling after all, eyes shining bright blue, the corners crinkling with humor.

*

So maybe, Steve’s best pal is an alien god.

It could have been stranger to contemplate, but for some reason, it just isn’t.

Thor is Steve’s favorite sparring partner, too. They swap around, of course, but everyone knows Clint and Natasha prefer to tangle with each other or to pierce targets, and Tony mostly enjoys exploding things. Bruce is completely uninterested in anything combat-related unless his temper flares. He enjoys Sudoku and breathing exercises.

But Thor? When he circles the ring with Thor, Steve smiles inside. He doesn’t have to pull his punches. Thor is preternaturally strong, but he can be surprised by a well-timed leg sweep or a flying clothesline, bouncing back with a head-shake and a laugh.

When they spar, Steve leaves the training room properly sore and completely exhausted. He hasn’t mauled a punching bag for weeks and weeks.

It’s _great_.

Steve prefers to think that Thor isn’t humoring him. At any rate, he keeps inviting Steve to “battle with me,” so he probably isn’t.

Probably.

*

It’s Sunday night again, and Thor settles next to Steve on the sofa after returning the popcorn bowl to his kitchen, then slings an arm over his shoulder as usual.

“This film is even better than they say, Steven,” he says, and Steve can’t help but grin. People were always recommending various movies from the seventy years of cinema he’d missed to him, so it’s nice and novel to introduce something new to someone who hadn’t “seen it a hundred times growing up, Steve, for gods sake.” 

“Well, I thought you’d like it. It’s one of those things that people reference a lot.” In fact, Thor had asked him what the flying monkeys thing was about after the battle in New York, and Steve had figured it’d be easier to watch the movie than to explain. Which it had been.

Thor leans in and launches into a description of Asgard that makes it sound like the Emerald City, a jewel surrounded by danger, and Steve listens with unflagging interest. He loves these stories. He thinks Thor should write a book that students of mythology will lap up like a cat does cream, but Thor isn’t too keen on disabusing Midgard of its quaint notions, apparently.

And that’s pretty funny, being that the Chitauri now have one of those things with the facts -- a _wiki_. People have mentally adjusted to the existence of extraplanetary beings and superheroes just fine. Possibly due to a steady cultural diet of sci-fi pictures and comic books. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think it had been somehow planned. According to some contributors on the wiki, it _was_ planned.

Talk turns to the latest mission and then winds down, Thor concealing a yawn, and Steve decides to hit his own quarters.

“Thanks for hosting tonight, Thor,” he says. “Next time you should pick the film.” Thor adores large-scale disaster movies and musicals with equal intensity. Last month, they’d watched Mamma Mia and Thor had appalled Clint by blaring the soundtrack in the gym and humming along with the numbers for a week afterward.

Thor nods and comes to his feet, offering a hug as usual. Steve isn’t used to folks who hug as much as Thor does, but he can’t say it isn’t nice to get them; he can’t remember the last time he’d been in anybody’s embrace, but it had been...it had been...before. Thor’s grip tightens and then eases back before Steve feels the soft press of lips to the bared side of Steve’s neck, just over his collar. And that’s something he’s never...well. No one’s ever done _that_ before.

He might have jumped from the surprise contact, but it happens so quickly that he just...stands there.

A kiss. That’s...odd, Steve thinks to himself, but Thor’s from another culture, after all. He has different customs, and Thor’s been great about acquainting himself with theirs, so Steve won’t quibble; fair’s fair. So Steve smiles, chucks Thor lightly on the shoulder and heads back to his own space.

*

They have another movie night the next week, this time in the cinema, to see a new blockbuster movie about an ice age caused by volcanic ash. Steve shushes Thor once early on, because the director had _gotten weather wrong_ and he had been offended: ”Do they not study science?!” but at Steve’s urging, Thor modulates his exclamations down to a whisper.

Steve loves the pictures, but seeing them in the cinema beats the DVR hands down, even when he drinks two giant sodas and has to miss a scene because there are no intermissions anymore (he misses those as well.)

He returns, sticks his refill drink into the cup holder and sits, and Thor captures his nearest hand in his own. Steve leans in, expecting Thor to whisper some other complaint about the unrealistic special effects, but Steve only sees his teeth flash briefly in the near dark.

So. Thor...simply...wants to hold his hand, then.

_Art by LePeru!_

Steve thinks of pulling away, but doesn’t; he’ll explain the etiquette of holding hands with someone you aren't romantically attached to after the movie ends and they can talk. In the meantime, he doesn’t see the harm in going along with Thor’s....Thor-custom or whatever this is. Thor’s hand is warm and dry and not entirely unpleasant to clasp, and he slides his thumb over Steve’s occasionally. It's well, it's nice. It is. Friendly. But Steve gently disengages a bit later to pick up his third drink.

After the movie, Thor picks up his hand again in the street, and Steve gently pulls away as heat rushes to his face.

“Uh,” he says, and he realizes he really does _not_ want to have to have this conversation. Maybe he can ask Coulson to give Thor some kind of social etiquette handbook or special handler talk, though even as he considers this, Steve thinks it’s cowardly; it’s not really any different than setting Thor straight on other Midgardian niceties, really. But for some reason, this time it is.

“Sorry, I um...” he manages, his throat drying as he stands before Thor on the street corner. Thor regards him with questioning eyes, so Steve bites the bullet. “I’m sorry, we...I can’t.”

Thor’s brow wrinkles at that, and Steve nudges him towards the restaurant near Stark Tower. He doesn’t feel comfortable talking about this standing in front of the theatre, at any rate.

“I have offended you, Steven?” Thor asks as they walk up 8th Avenue under blinking lights.

“No, not exac...no. Not at all,” Steve says, watching his breath and words unfurl in the cool air. “It’s just that friends -- friends who are...men -- don’t hold hands in public. I mean, not usually.” Steve’s pretty sure that hasn’t changed.

“But you did not mind in the theatre.”

Steve hesitates. He’d been too polite to say anything, and it hadn’t been as public, and it was dark, so...he hadn’t seen the harm in something so innocently sweet. It was tough to explain this. He thought Thor’s customs, most of them, anyway, were pretty great, usually. But when in Rome...

“Thor, it’s just that people on uh, earth. Well, in New York, anyway, don’t do that when they’re not together, you know, as a...couple. Dating, not just pals, like us.”

Thor strides along with him silently for the remainder of the block. “I see,” he says, finally.

Steve guesses he hadn’t done too badly, like the time he’d relayed patiently that people do not stand in the middle of the street and hold out both hands to catch taxicabs, _even if they’re strong enough to make them stop._


	2. Chapter 2

“What is the proper convention for asking someone to go accompany them on a date?” Thor asks without preamble, and Pepper drops her clipboard, scattering a sheaf of papers.

“Oh, god, Thor, sorry,” she says, smiling up at him as her heart rate catches up. “I didn’t know you were behind me until you spoke up.”

Thor helps her gather the papers, apologizing. “I am very sorry as well...Pepper.”

Pepper smiles -- he’d dropped ‘Lady Pepper’ at her insistence but he’d paused like he was about to say it and she’s a little bit sorry she told him ‘it’s just Pepper’ -- Thor is charming without even trying. “Were you asking me something?”

“I would like to request your assistance. Many things are still unfamiliar to me. I would like to couple with someone and am not certain how to properly ask my intended on a date.”

“Well,” Pepper bites back a smile, drops the papers on the counter and folds her arms. “How do you do it back home?”

“It is not as it’s done here." Thor meets her gaze. “Couplings were most commonly arranged by others.”

“I see.” Pepper hopes that indicates that matchmaking is done by well-meaning friends but is frankly afraid to ask for details, in case it...doesn’t. Thor is actually royalty -- a prince, isn’t he? -- as well as being regarded as a god? Was he _literally_ a god? Who knew how that shook out. Arranged marriages, or something? Oracles? Huh.

“Through song, as well,” Thor adds, eyes shining.

“You _could_ sing,” Pepper nods slowly as she imagines Thor serenading someone outside of a window. “That sounds really nice, singing.”

“I have seen this in many films. But I would prefer to court in the customary Midgard way.” He winks. “I am no writer of ballads; it is unfortunate.”

“Well, how did you and Jane get together?” Pepper asks, then bites her tongue for betraying tact. Tony said Thor had moped for weeks and weeks after the breakup. Shit.

“The Lady Jane struck me with her van, with great force.” Thor offers a lopsided grin. “I think that is unusual, though.”

“Ah. Yes. Well.” Pepper folds her arms, relieved that Thor apparently isn’t bothered at this point by mention of Jane, or, oddly, the memory of being hit by a van. Probably since he’s ready to get back into the saddle, she supposes. “Let’s go with the standard procedure, then. What are you thinking? Dinner and a movie?”

“I think dinner would be fine, on Friday eve.” Thor strokes his beard. “We have already been to a film, just this week.”

“Well then, just simply ask your...intended...” she smiles again, because how adorable is Thor Odinson, with the whole ‘my intended’ thing? Too, too adorable, “...to join you for dinner.”

“Should I make it clear that it is an official date?” Thor tilts his head and squints. “A ‘dinner date’?”

“Oh, no. I think it’ll be obvious that it’s a date. You’ve been out together socially already, after all. I mean, you can suggest that they dress up if it’s somewhere nice; people like to be dressed appropriately for wherever you’re going.”

“So. Yes, of course. Somewhere nice.”

“Yes!” Pepper says. “I’ll...actually, Tony and I were going to this great place on Friday night, but there’s a corporate get-together we have to attend instead. You can have our reservation, if eight o’ clock sounds okay.” Thor nods and and she inks the name and address of the restaurant on the back of something unnecessary from her clipboard and hands it over. “If your date can’t make it, take a friend; reservations take a month to get at Le Bern, even for Avengers. Oh, and it’s...well, it’s sort of fancy. You’ll want to wear a jacket, you know, like a suit?” Pepper considers that mentioning a sports coat might mean Thor would go with the New York Giants hoodie that Tony had bought him for ironic reasons.

“Yes, I could wear my grey suit, then,” Thor says, referring to the one he’d acquired for press conferences, and Pepper nods. “Very good!” Looking happy, Thor thanks her profusely before striding away, and she’s pleased she can help him out in some way. If Pepper had a sister, she’d set them up herself. Because he was pretty damned handsome. Especially in that suit.

*

Dinner is perfect, Thor thinks to himself, with the fine conversation and soft music. The Captain seems even more handsome than usual, seated across from him in a dark suit and red tie, and Thor has to stop himself from staring. All is well, except for the tiny servings of fish and other foods. They are all delicious, he and Steve agree, but merely morsels.

But when Thor raises his thumb to the Captain’s chin to remove a trace of the amaretto foam that had escaped his notice after dessert, Steven flinches away.

At that moment, both of their phone alerts go off and they rush back to the Tower to suit up and travel to Long Island to handle an attack by Ulysses Klaw, and super soldier or not, Steve reports a horrific headache after Klaw is safely in SHIELD custody.

Alone in his quarters, Thor shrugs off his clothing, demolishes half of a congealed pizza left out from lunch, and takes a shower that reminds him of the feel of rain. He tries very hard not to think very hard about anything besides the sensation of the cool water on his skin.

The films make both look so easy, but like war, romance is exhausting.

*

He doesn’t run into Steve at all for a few days after that, and Thor sorely feels the loss of his company.

“I am in need of your counsel,” He tells Tony in his Tower workshop, after the weekend.

“Yeah, noticed that. Okay, here’s some: don’t bring random people you meet in the park back home with you, and don’t accept scripture comics.”

“ _Stark_ ,” Thor interrupts him.

“Interesting fact: strangers eager to share their religious views with you rarely want you to share yours with them.”

“Yes, I have discovered this,” Thor says with a broad laugh. “But it is not the reason that I seek advice.”

Tony waves his hands and crunches a projection, then shoots it into a target on the wall, where it makes a *ping* sound and then immediately shrinks further and disappears. “So what did you need?”

“I have a dilemma related to my intended.” Thor pauses. “A romantic dilemma.”

“Huh. Okay, Ah. first off, I am the absolute worst person to talk to about that kind of thing. Ask Pepper. Secondly, I’m not having the talk with you. JARVIS, can you recommend something from the Judy Blume back catalog? Or maybe that Men Are From Mars thing, though I suppose that’s...obviously...total bullshit and disproved with prejudice in your particular case.”

“It is not anything very personal; merely a question regarding customs,” Thor continues, studying his own hands. “For courting. I am unsure about them.” Thor had been watching movies and reading books, but too many, perhaps. Those were mere tales. Fantasy.

Tony waves a hand, resigned. “Go on.”

“I have been spending many hours with my intended, but have met with resistance surrounding the expression of affection.”

Tony squints at him. “What kind of, uh, expressions are we talking about here?”

“A clasp of hands, a touch, a kiss,” Thor says. “All seem to be welcome in the dark of the theatre, but on the street, or dining...”

“--Some people don’t like PDA, Thor. I’m with one of ‘em.”

Thor shoots him a quizzical expression.

“PDA. Public Displays of Affection. You know whenever I just...graze Pepper’s back when I open the door for her a pic ends up in some skeevy gossip blog. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t even like dancing with me where other people besides all of you can see, because then news about Stark Industries' green energy initiatives is eclipsed by ‘did she get her job because she and Tony are...” Tony makes an explicit hand gesture, “and her favorite: ‘are they planning a baby?!!’”

He perches on a stool. “It’s just that we’re well-known. And you’re well-known now too, so that could be a factor. Anybody you smooch in public could end up plastered on Page 6. Fucking paparazzi. Bags of dicks.”

“I see,” Thor says, chagrined. But Tony makes sense. Of course Steven would not want their photographs in the news, with speculation laid upon their private lives rather than tales of the Avengers’ deeds. Even the latter incensed the Captain at times. There were so many inaccuracies and exaggerations in the stories. But tales were always like that.

“Look, being squirrely about kissing in public doesn’t mean someone’s ashamed of being with you, because...well, shit, look at you, Thor. But yeah, paps totally suck. So if you want to display some affection, try it in private.”

“Perhaps my feelings are simply not shared,” Thor says quietly.

“Eh. Spending time with you, accepting dates...” Tony grabs a mug and raises it in a half-toast. “...indicates interest to me, right?”

 

*

_September, 1938_

It’s a nice afternoon; it’s rained, so the air smells fresh, and the light’s nice right before supper like this. His mother isn’t home from her shift at the hospital yet, so Steve’s enjoying the atmosphere in front of their building and working on a rough sketch.

“What you got there?” a voice asks, and Steve grits his teeth, hard. It’s Leonard, and he’s not sure how he missed his approach. He’s big, he’s all mouth, and even the boys who aren’t as little as Steve is give him a wide berth.

“Nothin’,” Steve covers his notebook with his forearm.

“You draw, kid? Gimme that.” Leonard doesn’t wait for Steve to hand it over; he just lands a sharp smack between his hands and sends the notebook to the steps of the stoop.

“Hey!” Steve starts to stand but the older boy leans forward, fist clenched, and Steve sits. “Give it back.”

“Shut up.” Leonard’s dirty hands pick up the book and fumble through the pages. There are baseball players and a couple of recent attempts at still lifes. The people need work, but Steve thinks they aren’t too bad, and the drawing of the radios in the shop window across the way is halfway decent.

Leonard sniffs at those. “The Dodgers, huh? You play ball?”

“No, I can’t. I’m-” Sick. Everybody knows Steve has asthma, which is why he doesn’t play stickball or much of anything else that means running.

“Draw any naked ladies?”

Steve colors, and deflects. “No. I-I can’t draw people that well.”

“You sure draw a lot of fellas.”

“Everybody likes the Dodgers,” Steve says helplessly, the hexagonal grooves of the pencil digging sharp grooves into his palm.

“You’re a pansy --that's what you are,” says Leonard, as the notepad lands on a wet patch of ground. He gives Steve’s shoulder a hard shove for good measure and hoots over his shoulder as he stalks off in search of another target. “Mama’s boy.”

Steve wants to run after him and _kick his stupid face in_. 

*

“I would like to accompany you to the museum this afternoon,” Thor says as Steve shrugs his leather jacket on in the common room. “If you do not mind company.”

“You would?” Steve gives him a crooked smile. Nobody else he knows these days genuinely likes museums, except for Pepper, but she was always busy with work or with Tony when in New York, and Steve doesn’t mind going to the Met alone anyway. “I sort of spend a lot of time...sitting and sketching. I don’t want you to be bored. I mean, you don’t have to stick around me the whole time.”

Thor just nods, grabs his jacket, and follows Steve to the elevator.

*

They make their way through several exhibits in companionable silence, stopping before various artworks, but when Steve sits to render a sketch of a second sculpture, Thor decides to wander. He locates a 5th Century gold pendant featuring Odin and scratches a nail against the glass, wishing he could hold it in his hand. It is fanciful, but not a terrible likeness. 

He finds Steve again later in the afternoon; he is growing hungry and thinks he cannot be alone in this, knowing the Captain’s prodigious appetite. He’s seated on another bench, talking with an animated young woman with short black hair and very red lips.

“Shall we dine?” Thor asks -- a tentative interruption -- and Steve smiles apologetically, shakes the woman’s hand, and takes his leave, closing his sketchbook with a nod and following Thor outside into the waning afternoon sun. There are restaurants in the area, but Thor feels a bit selfish about sharing Steve’s company, so suggests they pick up something to bring back to the Tower and eat, and they take a taxi back home, Steve grinning at him as he hails a yellow cab. Properly.

In Steve’s quarters, they polish off their pastrami sandwiches and diner fries, and Thor kicks back on the sofa. “Were you able to complete your drawings?”

Steve shakes his head slowly. “No. You know, there’s a lot of bustle around in the museum, and I keep thinking I’m in the way.” He taps out a rhythm on his knee. “I used to be a little guy, you know. I could...disappear sometimes.”

“It seems that you attracted some company,” Thor raises a brow.

Steve rolls his eyes in return. “Somebody who thought she knew me from art school, who started talking about her projects and then a band she’s in. She lost me at ‘chillwave something. Uh...trancecore? Do you have any idea what that is?’”

Thor shakes his head. “A fetching beauty, though.”

“Too young for me.”

“But you are young also,” Thor points out.

Steve looks over at him. “War ages you more than than decades do, I’m finding out.”

“That it can,” Thor agrees, after a long moment, before spreading his hand across the sketchbook on Steve’s lap. “May I?”

Steve nods, sipping his water. “Go ahead.”

 

Thor leafs through Steve’s sketches, back to front, newest to older. The latest are a rendering of a sculpture from the Met and the other an experimental, moody sketch of a painting of boxers in the ring he had seen in the museum as well, and Thor smiles at him in recognition. “These are very fine indeed.”

There are drawings of the Avengers next, interspersed with people Thor doesn’t know. Steve begins sharing stories about the Commandos as each appear: Dernier and Dugan and Falsworth and Peggy Carter and Bucky, lots of Bucky, in response to Thor’s questions, and both of them are surprised by the chime of the clock on his bookcase; two hours have slipped by. Steve turns on the table lamp and flips to another page. “That’s Jim Morita. He’s...he’s gone now. They all are, as far as I know. They’re dead. If the war didn’t get them, the years did.” Steve pauses, swallowing hard, and Thor gently takes the sketchbook, sets it aside, and waits.

“I am sorry,” Thor says. “I didn’t know that sharing these would affect you so.”

Steve struggles with a half-smile. “It doesn’t, you know, when I’m sketching. I just focus on getting the details I remember just right. It’s talking about it that’s tough.” He’d seen a couple of SHIELD psychologists since he came out of the ice and though he's been told about the five or six stages of grief, he figures he’s somewhere between depression and acceptance, but he knows this would always, always hurt. It’s fine. Fine until something smacks him in the face, like that time he’d thought he saw Bucky in that old news article. Thor’s always understanding, but he must think Steve’s...that he’s, maybe that he should be over all of this by now, that he’s the wrong man to lead the team, that he’s weak, that-- he turns his head away, blinking quickly. _Dammit._

Thor nods, and slowly folds him into an embrace. Steve’s spine stiffens at first, but when Thor doesn’t release him, he lets himself relax, letting out a breath, and Thor begins stroking his back. He relaxes into the warmth and soon, the tightness in his muscles and chest begin to lift. Thor’s fingertips work along his shoulder blade, then find the nape of his neck, gently massaging the tight bits there, and after several minutes Steve feels nearly boneless.

“Feels good,” he murmurs faintly into the side of Thor’s neck. Steve also no longer thinks he might be on the verge of bursting into noisy tears, which is a relief, but he’s also heartened by the realization that Thor won’t judge him if he does.

Eventually, Thor’s hand slows, falling to Steve’s shoulder. His eyes are still closed when Thor leans back slightly and kisses him.

Thor kisses him.

Thor _is kissing_ him.

Steve sucks in a breath in surprise when Thor draws back slightly again.

The lips return to brush against his own, moist, and soft and tasting slightly but not unpleasantly of spicy sandwich. Steve gasps again against Thor’s mouth and then there's the press of his beard against Steve’s cheek and then there's _tongue_ and well, that's a little shocking. His hands come up to Thor’s shoulders and Steve leans back instinctively, gripping the cloth of Thor’s shirt, before he opens his eyes.

His gaze flickers to meet Thor’s, and his teammate's gaze is so open and giving and guileless and _hopeful_ at that moment that Steve finds himself unsure what to do. He just knows that he doesn't want to hurt Thor’s feelings.

“Uh,” he manages, “Thanks for...for listening to me. I think I’m going to turn in now. I’m pretty...wrecked. I’m sorry.”

Thor nods slightly and tightens an arm around Steve’s back for a brief moment before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss just at the edge of his cheekbone before grabbing his jacket. “Then I will take my leave.” 

Wordlessly, Steve walks Thor to the door of his suite and shuts it softly behind him, then as if on autopilot, he clears the sandwich wrappers and water bottles and places them into the trash and recycling. He opens the refrigerator and stares blindly at the contents before closing it again, plunging the kitchen into darkness. He stands there for a moment before heading for his bed and scrunching up a pillow. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to parse what had just happened.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve turns the card over in his hand; it’s the last SHIELD counselor he’d seen. She’d been nice enough, certainly, but he suspects that the things he tells anybody at SHIELD aren’t technically private no matter how much he is assured that they are.

So he tucks the white card back into his wallet, takes stock of who’s on hand at this hour and against his own better judgment, he decides to talk to Tony Stark instead.

*

Tony, while being the Avenger most likely to fuck with Steve (and everyone else) at any given moment, is also fairly unshockable, Steve believes. As team leader, he’s read everyone’s files and knows that Tony...had gone around with men before.

(There really _weren’t_ any secrets at SHIELD. Not that anything Tony Stark did hadn’t already been chronicled in excruciating detail in magazines and gossip columns for decades.)

So when Steve tells Tony that Thor has kissed him, Tony, gratifyingly, completely fails to look even remotely surprised. He simply takes a deep sip of the vile-looking smoothie he’s drinking and nods.

“So it was you,” Tony says.

“Was me, who?” Steve’s brow wrinkles.

“Did Thor try to get frisky in public? Pepper told me he was asking her about dating stuff and going on and on about it, and he came to me too, and...what? Why are you looking at me like that?” Tony hooks a brow and downs another swig of green stuff. “I didn’t know you were his special mystery lady who was kvetching about holding hands in public.”

Steve frowns and turns to the door. So Thor had spoken with Tony. This was just a bad idea. “Why did I even think I could talk to-”

“Don’t know. I must have a new aura of approachability these days. Simmer down, Cap,” Tony interrupts as Steve begins to speak. “Let me guess, it’s because I swing both ways, right?”

Steve folds his arms, squeaking the toe of his running shoe against the polished concrete floor of the workshop garage.

“Right. Well, I’m only probably 24% gay at this point, really. It’s been years.”

“I’m just gonna go. I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring this up again. Forget I mentioned anything,” Steve says. It’s not Tony’s job to hand out personal advice, but he guesses he and Thor must have had the same thought; Tony is the most _modern_ guy they know.

“Hey, no, come on, take a load off.” Tony opens the door to one of his convertibles and ushers a reluctant Steve inside, behind the wheel. “We could go for a spin or just sit here. The scent of rich Corinthian leather clears the head.” 

Steve’s hands find the burled wood of the steering wheel. He does like Tony’s cars.

“So, what did you want to ask me? Is it sex stuff?” Tony asks, sounding bizarrely hopeful.

“No! Tony, no, I just...I don’t know what to do about this.”

“You’re not interested?” Tony asks. “You and Thor hang out all the time. You’re practically in each other’s pockets.”

Steve’s brain replays the last minute and finally catches up to Tony’s ramblings.“But I’m not. I don’t. I’m...” Steve leans back in the seat. “I don’t think I’m any percent...gay.” The word is strange in his mouth. Familiar but not.

“You don’t think,” Tony repeats, and after a beat, Steve slowly shakes his head. “Oh,” Tony sets his drink on the dashboard. “Awkward.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs. “Did - did you think I might be? Why would you think-”

Tony shrugs. “Look, I don’t know what you wank to. I mean, I could probably ask JARVIS if there’s some video evidence, but unless you mention names...”

“Tony,” The heel of Steve’s hand accidentally hits the car horn and he jumps.

“Did you like it?”

“ _What_?” Steve replies, irritated now. He should have remembered how irritating Tony could be, but this whole situation was addling his brain.

“Being kissed by a guy. No, scratch that question. Being kissed by Thor. Is he any good at it? I bet he’s good at it because he’s older than you are. He’s probably had a shitload of practice. Was it enjoyable at all?”

Steve gives Tony a look.

Tony sips again. “It’s a serious question. I mean, right, you don’t _think_ you’re into that, but sometimes you should stop overthinking things. So you haven’t mamboed with a dude before, but you should give it a chance. You could do a lot worse than a hot god.”

“ _Tony_.”

“Are you put off by the idea of messing around with a guy, or the actual messing? Because experimentation is cool. I love experimentation. You’d think...well, you’re an experiment, yourself. Technically. No offense.”

Steve pauses to examine his hands, folded in his own lap. “I was surprised, I guess. Not, not, offended. I assumed it was just a cultural misunderstanding. Thor’s -- he’s my friend. I didn’t realize he wanted to be more than that, and he was with Jane before, so I thought-”

“So he’s bi, probably. Have you read much mythology? Gods make their own rules.”

“Sure,” Steve says. He really hadn’t been thinking of Thor as anything but a buddy. Thor liked musicals and pastrami sandwiches and Black Forest cake. It was easy to forget that he was set to rule another realm _when he was kissing you_.

“Well, regular mortals do too. Things are rarely all black or white. So, I don’t know, just lie and tell him you think he’s a great guy and very attractive but you don’t want to ruin your friendship. He’s into you, but he’ll get over your baby blues eventually.”

“Well, he is a great guy, and he’s, sure, I _don’t_ want to ruin our friendship. Or our working relationship.” Damn. Something else to worry about.

“Just don’t say anything homophobic.”

“As if I would. Jeez, Tony. Have a little faith,” Steve says, exasperated. “Of course I don’t mind if a fellow wants to...I mean, I don’t care who people go with. I don’t approve of anybody being bullied for it, either.”

“Huh.” Tony squints at him for a moment. “Yeah, just don’t bother explaining this whole...use the tried-and-true-let’s not-ruin-our-friendship excuse.” He glances at his watch. “Shit, the new enamel coat’s gonna overbake on the Mark XI.” Tony exits the car, already preoccupied, as Steve climbs out of his side.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says. “Just, please, if you could keep-”

Tony waves a hand. “I won’t say a word. Okay that’s a lie. I’ll probably tell Pepper so she doesn’t try to help Thor pick out promise rings or whatever next, but...”

“What?” Steve’s brows knit together again as Tony sighs.

“He asked Pepper for help, too. He really wants to impress you. The guy...Steve, he’s not out for a trade-show boogie. He really likes you.”

“Well. That certainly makes this easier.”

“Don’t worry. Thor can handle a little rejection, Steve. He’s tough. He’s a warrior. And, you know, a god and all.”

Steve nods slowly and heads for the door. “See you later, Tony.”

“A _hot_ god!” Tony’s voice echoes behind him as he steps into the elevator.

*

Steve goes out for a bite-sized run the next morning - down FDR and looping around Battery Park and back, but instead of heading for the gym and continuing the workout, he heads upstairs.

He’s not _avoiding_ Thor. Not exactly. It’s just that he isn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t as if Thor had just openly asked him on a date and he could politely decline; they’d already sort of fallen into the kind of relationship where Thor felt comfortable clasping hands or kissing him, or...that had been a wonderful massage. He hadn’t even thought anything of it at the time, and maybe he should have. Shit, Steve thought to himself, maybe he really _was_ that naive.

After all, the sum total of Steve’s sexual repertoire so far had been four kisses, listening to Bucky’s and the Commandos’ stories (some of which were obviously embellished for greater entertainment value), and waxing the weasel to an occasional glimpse of garter. He'd been busy! He’d looked up porn on the internet, but found it so staged and just...embarrassing. 

Steve belatedly realizes that he’s taken most of Thor’s pronouncements and actions as if Thor was clueless when it came to romance. There wasn’t anything Thor had done that Steve wouldn’t have tried if he’d had a dame to be interested in: spending time watching movies, long conversations over pizza, a fancy dinner out...he wonders how much advice Pepper had shared with Thor.

He smiles to himself, unable to help being a little flattered that Thor had asked her for help in the first place. That was, well...it was sort of sweet.

*

That afternoon, after a briefing; Steve, Natasha, and Bruce are being sent to join Clint in Texas to neutralize a small facility manufacturing illegal chemical weapons along with the pesticides it processes legitimately. Clint had infiltrated the place posing as a hauler, and Bruce had analyzed his smuggled samples.

“I love the hat,” Natasha hoots over the video connection, Clint salutes, and Fury snorts. Clint’s wearing a ball cap with a giant cartoon termite on it and a uniform with the cover name ‘Roy’ stitched over his chest.

“I’m not sure why I need to be there,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses.

“You’re good with chemistry,” Fury replies, “And the Other Guy’s good with the byproducts.” It’s true; the stuff the plant’s producing apparently won’t have any effect on the Hulk’s physiology, and it seems a factory in the middle of nowhere is about to get smashed.

It’s kind of an ideal Hulk gig, as Clint points out. Nat will pose as a government inspector, and she and Steve will clear the uninvolved workers and take out the management, willingly or not.

After the meeting, Steve’s heading for the quinjet with his bag and shield when he comes across Thor in the corridor.

“Thor,” he begins. “I -- we haven’t talked in-”

“Catch up later,” Natasha gives Steve a shove in the small of his back. “We need to go. Now.”

“Return home safely, Steven,” Thor says, before he lets Steve’s shoulder go.


	4. Chapter 4

_February, 1942_

At John’s, their favorite hole-in-the-wall bar in Red Hook, Steve finishes his beer. He’d had a couple and was already loopy -- he’d been a lightweight back then, what Clint Barton calls a two-can Sam.

The place is kind of rough, and sometimes Steve worries about the two dames working there alone late at night; the owner is an older man whose son had joined the service and is posted overseas. He’s half-listening to Bucky talking about some gal and a movie showing but that turns into mostly woolgathering when Irene slaps a damp bar towel onto the aged wood in front of him and angles her head towards the door.

“Better hurry up, your boyfriend’s heading off without you.” Steve turns his head, watching Bucky step out into the cold.

“He’s not...no, see...I’m not...” Steve sputters, shakes his head and hurries to catch up, face hot with the implication and body breathless with the effort.

*

The mission goes off without a hitch; Bruce bags samples and Steve hefts the canisters onto a waiting big rig for transport to a disposal facility, while Clint and Nat corner the culprits and round them up with only minor violence.

Then Hulk smashes the weapons building into bits, showing admirable restraint about most of the rest. It’ll be blamed on a “localized weather disturbance.” Done and dusted, they fly home.

Back in his suite in the Tower, Steve showers and changes for dinner. Like all soldiers past and present, Steve loves mail delivery. He sorts the junk from his To: Captain America mail -- no doubt another proposal or two, which always tickles him a little even though he finds the idea that someone would want to marry a stranger utterly baffling.

He sets the fan mail aside for later, then opens the two bigger red envelopes and checks the contents. The first parts of a television series. He knows he could order movies and the series through the satellite system somehow with help from JARVIS, but he likes getting the discs in the mail and looks forward to the arrival of new ones. Netflix is like some strange modern combination of the milkman and the library, two things he’d always loved as much as mail. 

There's another box here with a cryptic return address, and Steve turns it over in his hands. All of the mail is scanned, so this must be safe to open, though he doesn't recognize the return address. Slitting the cardboard, he sees a selection of DVDs that...aren't anything he’d ordered.

“Huh.”

“Captain Rogers?” JARVIS says.

“...hmm.”

“If I may, Sir. Mr Stark ordered these films for you.”

“Oh.” Steve sits on the sofa, staring at the slim boxes. They’re...pornography, with every possible gender combination and act mentioned in the titles and descriptions. He reads them silently: Guys Go West & Wild, Wild Nights In White Satin, Wild Lesbian Sorority Babes of Eta Nu Pi... “Why?”

“He said, if I may quote, ‘Steve probably hasn’t seen any of the good shit.’” JARVIS paused. “And I am aware that you prefer hard copies of your visual and print media.”

“Fine, JARVIS,” he says, and realizes he sounds a bit sharp. He’s tired and irritable and frankly just wants some hot food. Maybe lasagna, or meatloaf with some of those rolls that they’d had recently. “Sorry. No. I meant thanks. Thank you.” Steve sighs and sets the boxes aside and picks up the television series he’d ordered through Netflix. They look like something that Thor might enjoy, and they haven’t have a viewing night in a good while.

Tonight after dinner, they’ll catch up, and watch this “civil war for the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms.” And it won’t be strange at all, because they’re friends.

Steve glances around, gathers the pornographic DVDs, and shoves them back into the box, placing it on the sideboard. He’ll give them to Tony later. Or maybe he won’t, because that would probably be odder than just keeping the things, though he suspects Clint wouldn't mind having them. Or maybe Natasha. He goes pink at the thought of handing them to her. No, definitely Clint.

*

Thor isn’t in the shared big kitchen, but everyone else is suiting up again; there’s something fishy going on in Pittsburgh and the Avengers have been summoned to take care of it. There's no hot, lovely dinner for anyone, but Pepper and Bruce shove styrofoam cups at them as they pack up and head out.

“What’s this?” Clint asks.

“Shake. Tony’s favorite.”

“What’s in it?” Steve asks, hefting his shield over a shoulder.

“Uh...protein powder, guarana,” Pepper says as Steve wrinkles his nose. “...blueberries, yogurt, peanut butter...”

“Picky ingrate,” Natasha says in Steve’s ear, and that simply isn’t fair. He’s not picky at all. He’s famished, in fact. He just doesn’t eat seaweed.

“It’s good!” Clint shouts, waving his cup as they climb into the jet parked on the roof overhang. “Thanks, Pepper!”

Steve watches her roll her eyes and nudge Bruce to go inside, and he waves from the window as they take off for Pennsylvania.

 

The fishy thing? It’s a fish -- a giant one -- luckily not radioactive this time, but it’s bigger than a shark, and it flies and it breathes fire, just to present more of a challenge. Iron Man follows the flying fish, pulling Cap up to the top of a building near where Tony says Three Rivers Stadium used to be. They manage to get a net around the thing and a helicopter lifts it away for research somewhere. 

The next thing he knows, Steve wakes up on the jet; he’d taken a jolt when the thing had smacked him to the flame-heated roof with a huge flopping fin as the chopper lifted it away. His head is resting on something soft, yet firm, and there are fingertips sliding through his hairline. It’s relaxing. “Thor?” he mumbles, and the fingers stop for a second.

“Wow, you really got that one wrong,” Tony smirks from the seats across from his. Steve looks up to see Natasha and she raises an eyebrow.

“You’re not Thor,” Steve says. “Where is he?”

“Asgard,” Clint says, and Natasha nods and scratches her fingernail against Steve’s forehead, drawing a wince.

“Tar from the rooftop,” she says. “I’m really enjoying picking the chunks out of your hair.”

“Natasha, you’re weird,” Tony says, and Steve can see her flip him off with her other hand out of the corner of his eye. He tries to sit up, but she pushes him back down.

“Head injury. You’ll be fine, supersoldier, but relax.”

“I’m so hungry,” Clint whines. “Let’s get pizza on the way back.”

“Meatloaf an' mashed potatoes,” Steve mutters, his eyes slipping shut, and feels Natasha’s chuckle.

“It’s two in the morning, Cap,” Tony says. “I’ll have JARVIS order pizza. Wait, Asgard? Thor’s on Asgard?”

“He went to a wedding; last minute thing,” Natasha explains. “One of his childhood friends. He’s supposed to attend, or help, or be royal at it or something. He’s probably blessing the union.”

“Hold up. Bachelor party, and he didn’t invite me? I’m great at planning parties,” says Tony in a wounded tone.

“Asgard,” Clint says. “You heard that part, right? It’s not down the street at Scores.”

Natasha snickers. “I wouldn’t worry. They party hearty, the Æsir. I’ve heard stories.”

“So’ve I,” Steve mutters into her knee, drifting off to a mental image of Thor and his friends -- Volstagg and Sif among them, running amok through the great halls, maybe out hunting beasts with spears, maybe out hunting beasts with spears _while drunk_ , and laughs softly.

“That is entirely the point,” he hears Tony sputter as he goes under. “It is really fucked that I wasn’t invited.”

 

Steve wakes in his own bed and barely remembers getting there, except Bruce had shone a light at his pupils and declared him okay, and he vaguely recalls shoveling down several slices of pizza. He feels good, though; back to form, and it’s almost 11 in the morning, so he’s certainly had a good enough rest. He gets cleaned up and dresses, and his eyes catch on the box on the sideboard -- Tony’s porn. Amused now that he’s not tired and starving, he looks at the boxes, selects a few of the films, and heads for the television.

“JARVIS?” he asks.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Monitoring off.”

“Indeed, Sir,” the AI confirms, and now that he truly has his privacy, Steve slides a DVD into the slot, reading the summary on the box to himself: _Relax. Take a deep breath and let Island Fever 3 transport you to a sensual world of pure, raw passion, unlike any you’ve ever known._

He clears his throat to stifle a laugh, and settles back on the sofa as the movie starts, and...it doesn’t really have a plot. It’s just gorgeous blonde women frolicking naked next to pounding surf, mostly. He skips forward to the other chapters on the disc, and there’s a woman with an impressive bosom and a golden tan dancing alone in front of a waterfall, and that’s....hmm. Steve tilts his head, considering. It’s artistic, actually. He’s actually somewhat surprised at Tony’s taste; he’d expected something a bit more lurid, though it’s possible he picked the least lurid one by virtue of ignoring all of the discs with “wild” in their titles. He actually contemplates pausing the film to sketch a bit, but then the woman starts stroking herself and staring at the camera, and well, that’s a little lurid. Steve squints at the screen, and files that thought away: if the...actors are staring at the screen, that’s not something he finds appealing.

This isn’t unlike looking through a museum catalog, in a way, he thinks, lips curving in a smile. Deciding what you liked and what you didn’t care for, particularly. It’s not that strange, after all.

He hits the button to go forward on the film, but it’s the wrong one, and the video skips forward several scenes. Now the woman is gripping a boulder while a man with long hair holds her shoulders and pounds into her. The man actually...he looks a bit like Thor. Not exactly, of course -- Thor’s one of a kind for sure -- but he has long, flowing hair, and he’s very well-built.

The music is inoffensive but sort of distracting, so Steve turns down the sound, and a short time later, he realizes he’s leaning forward and pressing down on the fly of his khakis absently with the palm of his hand, and fine, yes, he’s definitely aroused.

A quick glance at the slanted window shades confirms nobody can see in, though of course he’s so many stories above street level that no one could, and it won't matter if he... he swallows hard, leans back and unfastens his straining khakis, and reaches into his boxers to wrap a hand around himself.

Steve usually gets off in the shower these days. It’s a timeworn habit, like brushing his teeth, and he’s generally thinking of nothing in particular except the sensation -- how good it feels to get some speedy relief. But now, legs spread on the soft leather sofa and his head tilted back and eyes slitted, he’s got the images on the screen to consider, to fuel the fire banking low, down south. His hand smooths against his own flesh, circling his dick, stopping to tease at the head, imagining...oh yeah, that’s nice. Really nice.

It doesn’t take long at all before he feels his balls tighten and all of a sudden there’s a hot rush of sensation and he’s grabbing the sofa with his other hand for purchase, gasping his release into the silent room as the images flicker on the screen. The waterfall, still. The same couple.

And then he realizes that he’d been focusing on the guy for several minutes. Exclusively. And when he’d shut his eyes, it hadn’t been the woman’s hand he’d imagined, tight on his cock. With shaking fingers and curious heat climbing his torso, he fumbles with the remote control and presses another button to stop the film, but ends up pausing it, and lets out a long, still-ragged breath. It’s nearly noon on a Tuesday, and he’s just yanked his crank to a fellow in a blue movie who looks a lot like Thor, if you squint.

Okay, he thinks. It’s _okay_. It isn’t like anybody ever has to find out.

Steve raises a trembling hand to his temple, and accidentally smears come all over his cheek.

And then he just has to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sadly Thor-light, but the next chapter will contain the bounty of Thor (well, it it isn't humanly possible to _contain_ Thor's bounty, but in theory...)
> 
> I watched Island Fever 3 to have a real movie for this chapter (and you can too [[NSFW LINK](http://epeisaktos.blogspot.com/2012/10/island-fever-3-2004-full-xxx-movie.html)], but [the guy](http://www.hdtvtotal.com/modules/gallery/albums/userpics/10002/island_fever_3_movie_007_NTSC.jpg) at :56 min really doesn't look like Thor unless you do squint.) You know how hard it is to find porn movies with men who have long hair? It's weirdly hard. But [I did it for you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGoWtY_h4xo), dear readers.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sometime last week_

Before leaving, Thor speaks with Natasha briefly to inform her about about the wedding and when he runs into Pepper in a hallway, the topic of Steven comes up. Pepper has an odd look on her face, and Thor can surmise well enough what she's about to say.

“It’s just that...” Pepper says, sounding as uncomfortable as he has ever heard her. “People are complicated, and I know you’re not really used to all of the customs here, but maybe it’s not as clear to you when someone just isn’t, well, on the same wavelength, if that makes sense.”

“Yes, of course,” Thor says, turning away and heading upward to the rooftop via the elevator, and if his voice is a bit gruff, it’s because he feels...he’s not sure what he feels. _Foolish_ covers some of it. _Sorry_ makes up the rest. He’d made Steven feel the same way apparently; he remembers his reaction in the street, and after he'd taken him to dinner.

“I wish to apologize for any confusion,” Thor says into Steve’s voicemail, curiously relieved that he doesn’t pick up. “I hope our friendship hasn’t suffered because of my...” he can’t think of a good way to finish the sentence, and hangs up with a sigh.

He waits before transporting home, but of course the team is on a mission and Steven probably won’t hear his message for many hours. He just hopes his apology will be accepted.

*

_Asgard, Present day_

Thor is chuckling to himself when his mother finds him on the balcony following the ceremony. Sensing a presence, he spins and she smiles in return.

“What amuses you so?” Frigga asks.

Thor had been patting his hip, checking his garb for his smartphone; something he’d left behind in his rooms because the technology doesn’t work here in any case, but it is an odd thing to explain, and besides, his mother seems to lack patience for stories of Midgard. “It is nothing.”

She winds her arm into Thor’s and surveys the scene below; family, his friends, nearly everyone they know has come to celebrate the wedding of Honir. “I am surprised he was at last able to commit to a bride,” Frigga leans her cheek onto Thor’s shoulder.

He laughs again. “He is known for his tendency to flee.”

Indeed he is; the wedding had been called an short notice for that reason. Thor regrets not being able to say his goodbyes to everyone personally before leaving for Asgard, but it couldn’t be helped. “It was a fine wedding.” He pauses. “My Shield brothers would have loved it.”

Thor feels Frigga’s arm stiffen under his. “They are not your brothers.”

“Brothers in arms. And sisters. Midgard had been a closed realm, before.” _Before Loki,_ Thor doesn’t have to add. Loki is held in a comfortable prison here to contemplate his crimes, but his actions had awakened the existence of Earth to others, and it was no longer safe. How had Tony Stark said it? _“We’re on the galactic radar now.”_

“They must defend their own realm. You cannot assist them forever; how long must you atone for your brother’s deeds?”

Thor takes a deep breath and rebuts her gently, taking a different tack: “It is not I who favors Midgard with my presence. there is much for me to learn in their realm.”

Frigga disengages from his arm with a smile, gaze on the celebrants as the sounds of revelry rise again. “Learning is good. Just remember where your duty lies, my son, and your home.” Thor spies Sif and a cousin of Thialfi dancing below, the man tripping over her finery and his own boots, and points them out. “Ah. Sif. She has missed your presence - did you miss her as well?”

His mother is aware, of course, that Jane has called an end to their courting. She had not said anything aloud on previous visits, but Thor knows his family doesn’t approve of his becoming close to Midgardians instead of their own people, but Frigga is too wise and knows her stubborn son too well to issue orders. “I miss all of you at times,” he adds diplomatically. “But there is work to be done still on Midgard. I will return soon.”

“Well, there is no work for anyone tonight. Go and dance,” Frigga replies, pulling at Thor’s hand. “Any in Asgard would be honored by your company,” she adds pointedly. “Perhaps the next union we celebrate shall be your own.”

 

*

_New York_

Things are quiet again for several days, and it’s a relief. Clint says something about Mercury in retrograde being responsible for the rush of Avenging they’d had to do lately, and that’s apparently something to do with horoscopes. Natasha thinks that’s crap, but they spend the next week sharing their daily predictions and analyzing one another. Steve is a Cancer. “Patriotic,” Clint says, reading off his tablet as they gather for breakfast. “Also, sensitive and maternal.”

“ _Him_? Give me a break,” Tony says, and Steve gives him a dirty look instead. “Okay, sorry. Actually, that fits. Steve is our team mommy for sure, but also crabby. It says ‘crabby’ right? Because it’s a crab?”

“I am not crabby!” Steve protests.

“Did I wound you?” Tony asks sarcastically. “You’re so sensitive.” Natasha whacks his shoulder.

“Typical Gemini,” Clint says, pointing out that Tony’s the life of the party, a flirt, and always changing his mind about things, and Tony goes off on an extended rant about how unscientific astrology is.

“...and it’s not like the Chinese one is any better. Year of the Dog? So I’m like every other person born the same year? I beg to differ.”

“You’re a special little snowflake, Tony,” Natasha smirks.

“I’m just like my sign says I should be,” Pepper sighs, and flicks a glance to Tony. “Don’t you think?”

“Horoscopes are wacky woo and unscientific.”

“Nevertheless.”

“You’re nothing like your sun sign,” Tony scoffs, pouring another cup of coffee.

“What’s my sign, Tony?” asks Pepper.

“No parking? It’s nonsense, I told you.”

“It’s Virgo. When’s my birthday, Tony?”

The kitchen is silent except for the sound of Natasha’s spoon hitting the side of her mug as she stirs in sugar. Steve coughs unnecessarily.

Tony snaps his fingers. “Uh, JARVIS? Help a brother out.”

*

Steve’s afraid that the next time he sees Thor, he’s going to...act strangely, betraying what he’d thought about that night in front of the television set, but it’s not like he’s never done any acting. (He’s no Gary Cooper, but the USO shows count, he figures.)

But Thor’s back and they’ve had lunch with Clint at a seafood place in the West 70s and everything is just as sweet as pie. Peachy keen. They have peach pie, even.

So things are perfect. Normal. Nobody knows, after all. It’s still, well, it’s not as if he wants to do actually do those things with Thor or that he should think about doing them. Even though it's a challenge to stop, now. He just thinks about something else. They’re teammates, and Tony had made a good point about...other things...ruining friendships.

“I missed you,” Steve blurts out anyway when the two of them are alone back at the Tower, and in the raw pause afterward he can feel his face heat. “Thor-”

“I did not receive a message in return from you on arrival,” Thor interrupts. “There were sixteen messages from Stark, however. Sixteen!”

Steve squints at him. “Messages...?”

“Voice messages!” Thor waves his smartphone and claps him on the arm. “I have become accustomed to communicating with this. I sorely missed it on Asgard. We send messengers to relay questions.”

“Right. I didn’t...” He always forgets that anyone can leave a message when his phone is switched off, even though the others have griped at him for turning it off at dinner. Steve fumbles his phone out of his pocket and pokes at the messages icon, and Tony’s voice pours out:

“Oh god, what the hell are you doing getting the paper delivered? Reception thought it was a mistake and there’s a stack of the Times four feet high in a storage room off the lobby. So it’s all old news now anyway. Use the internet, Steve!”

Steve rolls his eyes as Thor grins. “Why doesn’t Tony just send texts like everybody else?” he blurts, and Thor starts laughing, because it’s ridiculous that they’re both...not from 21st century America, and yet Steve’s complaining about smartphone messages even though he prefers newsprint to a screen, and it’s just... Steve can’t hold back a snort and a moment later they’re both laughing their heads off in that we-can’t-stop-no-really-can’t-even-breathe-right-if-you-look-at-me-that-way-you’ll-set-me-off-stop-that sort of way that doesn’t happen very often, and is always over something that isn’t ever that funny to start with.

While Steve’s still catching his breath and fighting downright embarrassing giggles, Thor takes his phone away and presses a few buttons. “Erased,” he says. “I was just letting you know I had gone to Asgard, and now I have returned, so...”

“So,” Steve echoes. “So, I have this television series we should watch together. It’s called ‘Game of Thrones.’”

“That sounds intriguing,” Thor says, and just like that, they have plans for later.

*

Of course the plans are pushed back.

The Avengers assemble -- “Is Mercury in retrograde _now_ , Clint? Still?” “Shut up, Tony.” -- and there are flying robots.

 _”Drones,”_ Tony corrects tightly. Drones with automatic weapons.

It’s horrible.

The streets of the financial district are quickly cleared of most civilians, and people have been instructed by the media to stay away from windows, but most of the drones’ attention had been on anything moving along the streets. Not everyone got the message right away.

Thor falls first, taking a blast of fire along his waist where his armor stops. There’s a rush of blood all of a sudden, a lot of it, and Steve stops, frozen to the spot, as the rapid-fire bullet-spewing drone moves on, riddling the columns in front of the Exchange, leaving them pocked and smoking.

“He’’ll be fine. I got this!” Clint pushes at Steve’s shoulder, turning him back towards the fight as the drones move down Nassau Street. “Go, Cap. I _got_ this!” he repeats.

Steve turns to look back at Thor once more as Natasha starts back towards the action and smacks his arm with the flat side of her gun. “Come on!”

*

“Still in medical,” Fury says at the debrief when Steve asks about Thor.

“Everything’s fine,” Natasha adds, and he breathes easier. “He’s resting, and Bruce is sleeping off the green.”

They’re sweaty and exhausted and pass water bottles around the table. It took four frantic hours to bring the drones down after Hulk smashed one and Tony plugged something into its guts that could somehow upload code to JARVIS for a hack. As it turns out, they’re Hammer tech.

“Good thing, too,” Tony says, chugging. “Now if _I_ built drones like those, well, like those except better in every way, humanity would be quaking with fear.”

“Those were bad enough,” Clint says, around a toothpick. “I fucking hate armorized robotic defenses.”

Fury sends them off to gather their gear, and Steve makes a beeline for medical. 

Bruce has already left, Thor is seated on the end of a bed, bare feet on the floor, when Steve draws back the curtain in the med bay and lets himself in. “You shouldn’t be sitting up.”

Thor cocks his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were shot. You-” Thor had been more than merely shot; a standard-issue mortal, or Steve, serum or no, would have been cut in half with the power of those weapons. Steve swallows hard as Thor lifts his gray t-shirt to pull away a band of gauze wrapped around his torso. Faint pink marks and light bruises dot his abdomen, but that’s all. Thor nods and Steve reaches out to touch the dents in his flesh; it isn’t even scar tissue; it looks like the result of a hard pummeling, maybe with those rubber bullets police train with these days.

"Does it hurt?"

“No longer. You are aware that I heal quickly. I was seen by the SHIELD doctors, but as a formality.”

“But you lost a lot of blood.”

“It was unpleasant.” Thor nods. “I did bleed, but I am very difficult to injure.”

Steve manages a watery smile. “So am I. I mean, I get hurt but bounce back fast. But I’d still be laid up for quite a while after something like that if I even survived it, and probably getting a transfusion. Actually, not sure I can get one, because of the serum. Huh. Can you? I mean even...what’s your blood type?”

Thor shrugs. “It wasn’t necessary.”

Steve takes a deep breath, having realized that he’s rambling, and Thor’s biting his lip, and he notices then that his fingers are still resting on Thor’s torso. He moves his hand and steps back, grabbing for the edge of the blue curtain around the bed.

“I’ll uh, just. You probably want to get dressed. I’ll wait for you, if you want.”


	6. Chapter 6

Steve’s kicking himself. Kicking himself, because this sort of thing is the reason why he’s always been awkward around dames and...well, up to now it’s only been dames.

“This sort of thing” is Steve’s complete inability to speak or act normally when he starts thinking of someone _that way_.

It was fine when he’d first met Peggy; he’d gotten to know her first before anything really happened between them, though of course he thought she was beautiful, and impressive, and well, lots of things, but what would a dame, a _woman_ , like Peggy Carter ever see in a skinny mope who was smaller than she was, even without the modest heels on her shoes? None of Bucky’s setups had ever been anything other than disappointed to meet him; why would Peggy Carter be any different?

He went from an invisible man to a fellow with unmentionable things said on the internet about his physique, but he’s never had the chance to date anybody properly, except for the short time before a last kiss and a last conversation over a radio in 1942. Now it’s an entirely new century, someone who knows Steve for himself likes him _like that_ and nobody who knows either of them seems as if they’d mind if Steve likes Thor back.

He thinks maybe he might...like Thor. Like that. 

Steve Rogers is very, very good at battle tactics and planning. But he has no idea what he ought to do about this.

*

It’s post-mission and post-debrief, so of course they’ll all plant their faces into some food together as tradition demands. Everyone meets, cleaned up and in civilian clothes outside SHIELD headquarters, Tony having sent the suit home after giving Pepper an update by phone: “You know the landing strip will just pull off the components when the suit terrace-drops, but Pepper’ll shit when the helmet comes off and my head’s not in there.”

Bruce wants shawarma again; apparently they had it after the big battle, but Steve barely remembers eating that day before passing out at the table and being nudged awake. Natasha craves burgers. Clint doesn’t care, and Tony says he’s paying. “No, fuck that noise, actually. SHIELD’s paying. Let’s go swanky.”

"I hate swank after missions, Stark," Natasha complains, and Clint concurs: "Carbo load." 

“Let Thor pick,” Steve says, feeling Tony's sharp glance. "He was injured...”

“I am _fine_." 

"He's a hot god, Cap," Tony says pointedly, and Steve valiantly fights down the heat creeping over his collar as he silently wills Tony to shut up. "Of course he's fine."

"No, I chose the last restaurant, and the portions were tiny,” Thor shakes his head, and Steve hides a smile after catching his eye. That had been _a date_. If he didn’t count the times Bucky had said,“she has a friend; come on, it’ll be fun,” it was the first time anybody had taken him out on a date.

Natasha perks up. “Tiny? Where was that?”

“Thor thinks all-you-can-eat buffets are tiny,” Tony smirks, and that isn’t true, but Steve doesn’t want to argue; he wants to eat. 

“My vote is still for meatloaf,” he throws in, because a man’s gotta try.

Clint nods slowly. “Meatloaf. Yes. And the fifth food group, gravy. Diner food needs to get in my body, right now.”

A smile spreads over Bruce’s face. “Someplace with cheese fries? I don’t remember the last time I had those.”

“Settled,” Tony says. “I know a place.”

 

It might seem odd to outsiders, this tradition. They spend frantic hours risking their lives, getting knocked around and bruised up and sometimes shot, and they see terrible things. And then they pack up, wash up, and stumble to a restaurant or order food in and stuff themselves. But Steve remembers the Commandos hitting whichever bar was nearest after some truly grueling missions and even aborted missions or those days when there were no missions, so there’s really nothing odd about it. Cheese fries might be healthier than shots of rye, too, though Steve wouldn’t lay money on those odds.

People have to eat, after all, and a good meal can remind you you’re alive.

They pile into a black SHIELD van conveniently keyed to Natasha’s thumbprint, head to a place uptown that’s well-lit and cheerful inside, and with three tables pushed together, they soon lay waste to meatloaf -- “Sixteen dollars!” whistles Steve under his breath -- and burgers and corn chowder and macaroni and cheese.

He can feel his heartbeat trip every time he glances at Thor -- at his eyes or his hands, or the fall of his still-damp hair along his shoulder. Things he hadn’t noticed before, really. Except now he does and he can’t seem to stop.

After, there are milkshakes and coffee and a huge warm blueberry pie, which the owners give them gratis “for everything you do for the city.” Tony, or rather SHIELD, leaves a humongous tip, and they pile into the loaned van and head back to the tower.

By all rights, Steve ought to be exhausted after a day like this, but he’d picked up his second wind somewhere around that slice of pie. Not the case for most of the team -- they complain of being uncomfortably stuffed and back at the tower they split up for their own living quarters, leaving Thor and Steve to part ways in their shared corridor.

He hesitates. “G‘night, Thor.”

“I am not tired...” Thor says, and when Steve looks at him his expression is clearly an invitation, so Steve wordlessly follows him into his suite.

They pass on watching a DVD and Thor turns on the news instead. “I don’t want to watch this,” Steve admits after a few minutes; the news reports are hard to take on a day when the Avengers are involved. He’ll view the footage from Iron Man’s helmet camera later through JARVIS, critique the battle that way. He likes having the chance to see things from different angles like the slow motion replays they have during baseball games, but cable news, with its shaky amateur video from the internet and carousel of guest "experts” is not a good way to do it.

Thor turns the huge television off and it’s silent in his apartment. Darker, too...the glow of the city shining through the window the only light besides a dim table lamp.

"Guess I ought to-” he says.  
“I have something for you-” Thor cuts in at the same time, and they both smile.

“Go ahead,” Steve urges. He was just about to say goodnight again anyway. He’s been feeling jumpy since he walked in, thinking about where to sit on the sofa (it doesn’t matter - Thor takes the chair) and everything else. His throat’s a little dry and his palms seem clammy.

“I’ve brought something back from Asgard I think you will like, Steven,” Thor gets up and heads for the kitchen area, then a whoosh and a few clinks later, returns with two glasses. “Our most potent libation.”

“If it’s alcohol...” Steve trails off, peering at the cool caramel-colored drink he’s now holding. “It doesn’t work on me. My metabolism’s too fast.”

“Will you taste it?”

Steve sips as Thor joins him on the sofa, and it’s good. It’s slightly sweet and full-bodied, not fizzy or foamy, and he nods his approval. It tastes nice, whether it’ll have any effect or not. “Tell me about your trip,” he says, finally thinking of something to converse about. 

The mead does have a minor effect. They have just one glass of the stuff, but Steve feels himself slowly relax as Thor tells him about the celebrations on Asgard, with a tingle at the back of his neck that’s nice and nostalgic; he’d thought his getting-drunk days were over. Not that drinking was that much fun in itself, but he’d missed the buzzy haze of a couple of beers at bars in Brooklyn when he was smaller.

"...and it was requested that I stay."

Steve tilts his head and squints. “Were you tempted?”

“No. I did, _do_ miss my family and my other...warrior friends,” Thor’s lips curve at that. “But the bridge has been rebuilt. I am able to return, to visit. But my father has time left before I would take his place. He understands that I desire to learn in the meantime.” He pauses, elbows planted on his knees, and swirls the liquid in his tumbler before looking up at Steve. “My mother would see me wed next.”

“Really?”

“To Sif, I believe.” Thor leans back on the sofa. Thor had told Steve all about Sif; she sounded a lot like Peggy -- brash and brave and confident, with dark hair and deadly aim.

“Well, she seems...keen,” Steve says carefully. “I mean, she sounds like a, a good match, right?”

“Sif is like a sister to me,” Thor says, humor in his tone. “Which despite what you may hear about royal houses, is not actually acceptable for a partner in matrimony.”

Steve grins at that, and they settle into silence for a while, the lights of the skyscrapers shining beyond the window.

“Show me your stomach again,” he blurts out, and he’s certainly not drunk, not enough to get away with saying something like that, not at all -- he knows it’s odd even as the words leave his lips, but Thor isn't fazed -- he just pulls his t-shirt over his head and shakes it off his arm onto the sofa. Steve leans in to peer at Thor’s unmarked flesh.“You’re better,” he says, stating the obvious. He'd already known Thor was practically healed.

Thor lifts his glass and finishes the tiny sip remaining. “Yes.”

“That’s, that’s good. I was worried.”

Thor pauses. “Thank you for coming in, to talk. You are likely weary.”

“No, I wasn't, I-”

“I have been putting this off,” Thor continues, “but I must apologize to you.”

“Apologize? Why? You don’t need to apologize for anything.” 

"I've been unfair to you. I feel that I've pushed my attentions onto you. We are friends." Thor averts his eyes.

"'Course we are. I did talk to Tony." He glances at Thor. "I was worried about that. Our, our friendship."

"It is clear that my-

"No, Thor, you-"

“-attentions are not welcome. I'll get over it, as they say,” Thor says quietly.

“Well,” Steve says, after a moment. “What if I don’t want you to?”

Thor’s eyes cloud. “You would have me suffer?”

“Suffer? No. What...what are you talking about?” Steve grasps Thor's arm, feels the flex of muscle beneath. “Of course not.”

Thor lets out a hard gust of breath. “You have said that our friendship is important to you, and it is to me as well, but I feel a fool of my own making. It is...I may need some time.”

“No,” Steve says, and Thor looks aggrieved, and finally Steve gets it. “No, no, I think we’re misunderstanding each other. I don’t mean...I mean that maybe we could try. Try a relationship. Other than friendship. Friendship too, of course, but...more.” Steve feels his throat tighten, but realizes that he's going to have to learn how to communicate bluntly; there have already been too many misses. “I mean, we could try it. Being...together. Date. If you still wanted to. I want to.”

“But you have said...”

“I...didnt..."

"Pepper said-"

“Thor, I didn't talk to Pepper. I just...I'm new to this. I don't actually know what I'm doing." He pauses. "When you were gone, I thought about you. A lot." He replaces his hand on Thor's arm, slides it up to his bicep, and leans in with what he hopes is unmistakable intent.

Steve hasn't done this -- sure, he’s been kissed and kissed someone else; he's been kissed by _Thor_ even, those quick and gentle touches before. But this? This leisurely, sweetly dirty kissing, this taking the time to enjoy the taste of someone's mouth while a clutch of heat builds in his chest -- it’s completely new.

He can hear himself make a low, pleased sound as Thor shifts closer, trails lips moist and hot against the edge of his jaw to the curve of his neck. They twist on the sofa and Steve finds himself edging his leg over so he's straddling Thor's lap; he feels distinctly proud of himself when Thor gasps beneath him at that. At Thor's buck and bite at his lip, he can't help a whine of his own, but he’s pressed flush against Thor now and they’re both hard; he’d have to be a martyr to be silent at the way that feels as Thor offers breathy sighs of his own between kisses, his hands gripping Steve's thighs, pulling him closer still.

He leans back, breathless, and Thor's head falls backward to the sofa cushions, Steve's arms locked around his neck, fingers entwined into silken hair. "You will kill me, Steven."

"That's a compliment, right?" he manages, freeing a hand to drag it over the golden expanse of Thor's chest.

" _Yes_ ," Thor groans. 

"What'll your folks say?"

Thor beams up at him. "They are already aware I favor mortals." 

At that, Steve beams back, then dips in for another kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but it's all sexxxy. I hope you don't mind! :)

There’s a lull between them, and Steve shifts, moving his legs to stand. He looks...nervous almost, and Thor fears that he’s changed his mind, that he’ll apologize with some invented but plausible excuse (because Steven is nothing if not polite and kind, if fearful for some reason he will not or cannot share) and rush for the door, but Steve, tall and flushed and perfect, muscles taut, lips swollen from kissing, stands tall before him, takes a deep breath, and extends a hand.

“I thought we could take this somewhere more comfortable,” he says, voice deeper than he’s ever heard, and Thor takes his hand and stands, leans into him, and presses a kiss to the side of Steve’s neck, feels his pulse jump, before he leads his intended in the direction of his own bedroom.

 

*

Sure, yes, he’s...he’s nervous, okay? Times have changed, though, and nobody’s going to scrawl Steve’s name on the wall of a public restroom for being easy, or beat him in an alley for daring to be with Thor. He just knows that what they’re doing feels good...it feels _right,_ and so, so good, and he doesn’t want to stop, won’t stop, can't. Can't stop, caught breath or pounding heart or no.

He has a fairly good idea of the things they could get up to, but it isn’t like women, which is more obvious. It it was Peggy, it’d be simpler, maybe. He’d be...well, he knows what to do. If he and Thor...make love, who’ll do what to whom? The uncertainty is kind of exciting, though.

Thor’s bedroom seems far away while they’re traveling there, but it could be because one or the other of them pauses, stops, pulls, kisses along the way. Once they’re inside and the door is shut with a soft click, Steve takes in the mostly-green of the walls -- he focuses better and sees it’s not paint but wallpaper, and there are limbs and boughs and clutches of leaves everywhere, like the inside of a bower. He wants to say something complimentary about the choice, but Thor’s lips are on his, his fingers in his hair and wrapped around his back, and he’ll say something later about how nice it is to be in a beautiful room like this. For now, he’s in this beautiful room being kissed and touched like never before, and he follows Thor down, tumbling to the snowy white coverlet, a blur of warm hands and skin, wet tongue against his own and against his own skin.

He’d wondered, before, about the beard, but he discovers that he relishes the scratch of hair against his face as Thor shifts, pressing kisses along his neck. It’s nice; it reminds him that it’s Thor he’s with, not Peggy or (not Bucky, not...as if he’d ever, he’d never, no...) At any rate, he likes the slight burn that lingers on his flesh when Thor pulls back and away, stares up at him with eyes dark and unfocused, but still twinkling.

“May...” he begins, and Steve nods before he can get the rest out. “...I...” Yes. _Yes._ Understood. Fuck, of course, anything. Anything Thor wants, he can have. Thor’s pulling at the top of Steve’s shiny-slick running pants, clothes he’d just thrown on earlier, and he lifts his hips so Thor can slide them down his legs and off, and Steve realizes he’s never been this...naked with another person. In the showers, sure, but never being touched like this. Thor’s trousers follow, thrown aside to the floor, and they move together, flesh against flesh, a revelation. Why would anyone wear clothes, he thinks, perhaps stupidly, when a simple, innocent embrace can feel like this? Not that this is innocent.

It isn't. Maybe he is, but innocent isn't what he wants.

A shiver dashes down his spine and Thor chases it with a broad palm, but doesn’t stop, until he does, finally, and Thor's raspy voice sounds as wrecked as Steve feels, but he nods quickly at the question. Of course Thor can touch him there, anywhere. God, of course. And please, _please_ , don’t _stop_.

The minutes after break into fragments, a blur of warm hands and smooth skin and wet tongue, and Thor’s wrapping a huge hand around Steve’s rock-hard cock, engorged in his hand. Steve can’t hold back: he’s thrusting, and making unbidden sounds in his throat as he does, but he can’t, won’t stop now. 

“Steven?”

“Mmm.”

“Please tell me if you don’t like...”

“No,” he manages, "Don't stop."

“No?”

“Yes. _Yes._ ,” he bites out, “I like it. I like everything,” he admits, and he wishes he could hold off longer, but he frankly can’t, not with Thor’s strong, steady, clever fingers at the head and base of his cock, and his mouth making silent words on his chest...he just, he can’t. He comes in an unstoppable series of hard jerks, Thor’s hands moving to his shoulders afterward, his gaze finding Steve’s, and it’s good, it’s so, so good.

Thor’s face swims before his own, his hand in view, fingers tasting...him. He gasps, and remembers suddenly that he hasn’t given anything back in this bed; he’s just taken everything, but Thor isn’t hard anymore.

“I did...already,” Thor admits. “Watching you,” and Steve thinks that’s the finest compliment. He folds himself into Thor’s shoulder and hip and side, wrapping an arm around his solid form, and gives himself over to sleep.

 

Somehow, over the course of the night, he’s drawn to Thor, even closer, as if through some kind of strange centrifugal force. He’s plastered along his bare side, cheek to the edge of his chest, his arm flung over Thor’s stomach above the folds of sheet ruched along his hip.

The sun streams in, illuminating the bower on the walls. He doesn’t have to lift his head to see the sheet tenting. Clearly a part of Thor is up already. Thor turns the side of his face into Steve’s, beard brushing into his cheek. He can feel the flutter of Thor’s eyelashes against his temple like butterfly wings.

“Good morning,” he rumbles, and he feels himself blush, crimson spreading as Thor’s chest rumbles with a laugh. “You would burn me with your color, Steven.”

“I’m...sorry,” Steve says, raising his head, but Thor tightens his arm around Steve’s back and moves on the big bed, holds him against his shoulder.

“Jesting,” Thor murmurs, his eyes slipping shut again, and Steve lets out a held breath and lets himself relax where he is, surrounded by sunshine and warmth and the illusion of leafy, verdant trees. It’s good. It feels safe, and warm, and Thor smells wonderful.

Thor rolls him over and Steve goes, relaxing with a hum into his folded arms.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...in which the rest of the team finds out.

_April, 1939_

It’s an unseasonably warm Saturday night in early spring, and Bucky has a hot date. Steve, on the other hand, feels too rotten to do anything more than curl up on the sofa. He’d gotten up and put a spoonful of metholatum in a hot tub of water, and barely made it back to set it on the table. He’d just throw a towel over his head and lean over to breathe in the scent, and that’ll help. In a minute. When he's up to moving again.

“Sure you don’t wanna come? I bet I can get my girl to scare up a friend of hers.”

“Nah,” Steve waves him off. “I wouldn’t be any kind of company anyway; I’d probably just sneeze all over her.”

Bucky gives him a twisted smile as he ties his shoes. “You want me to call it off? I could stick around...”

“Nope,” Steve says. “I’m okay. You go and have a good time.”

Hours later, Steve’s in bed, and he’s not sure how he got there, but there are more pillows than he’s used to, and he hazily suspects Bucky’s sacrificed his to keep his head up. “Buck?” he mumbles, and he realizes Bucky’s wedged next to him and is pushing him back against the linens, spreading his shirt open and smoothing Vick’s over Steve’s thin, heaving chest. He tries to breathe in, but ends up hacking, and it hurts his lungs. “Buck?”

“I gotcha, buddy.”

“How was your date?” he wheezes. 

“Pretty keen. Then I got home and found you out of your head on the floor with the water tub spilled all over. You had a fever.”

“Huh,” Steve struggles to keep his eyes open. Even blinking's rough going.

“You were delirious. I almost called the doctor but you snapped out of it and fell asleep, and you cooled down some.”

“Sorry,” he slurs in reply. “...ruined y'r evening.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky says, giving Steve’s knee a light, friendly jostle. “It was already over. And I’d had a few. Enough to forget most of what you said.”

Steve finds he's holding his breath. “What’d I...?”

“Never mind, not that it wasn’t a compliment, but holy geez, you musta been out of your head...”

 

*

Thor runs a broad hand down Steve’s back and when he shifts, tucks himself around the sleek curve of his spine, letting him doze a while longer. Thor loves this; waking with someone in his bed, warm and cozy and present. Of course, he could have had that any night over the past many months. There were always places to meet people to bring home for sex, but he hadn’t wanted that, hadn’t wanted just any body in his bed, any random face to wake up to.

When Steve rouses himself again eventually and turns in Thor’s arms, muffling a yawn as he blinks against the sun, his contented smile makes Thor want to burst. 

He’d feared Steven might entertain regrets after the night before, but it appears that this is not so. He leans in to capture Steve’s mouth under his own, and he grimaces, face twisting to the side. “No, wait...”

Thor holds his breath. “...brush my teeth first,” Steve finishes, mumbling, and relieved but not caring at all if Steve actually does that or not, Thor kisses along his jaw and down the side of his neck instead.

“I am not bothered by the way you taste in the morning,” he says, and Steve’s hand finds Thor’s shoulder and grips, pushing him backward. Thor goes, and watches as Steve explores, running his fingertips down his chest and stomach, resisting the urge to buck upward as he drags them lower. He’s almost painfully hard, and wants Steve, now low at his side and looking upward under dark lashes with slumber-mussed hair falling over his brow, to touch him, to take him in hand at this moment more than anything he can remember wanting for a very long time.

He’s surprised then, when first the heat of Steve’s breath, then his plush lips, engulf him. Thor arches his back, pulling so hard at the linens that they come untucked from the sides of the bed as Steve pauses for a moment, searching his eyes, biting his lip, then leans in to paint the head of his cock with his tongue, tentatively at first, flushing as Thor moans with frank encouragement, before swallowing him halfway.

Oh. _Oh._ This is a fine morning, indeed.

*

It’s nearly an hour later (and three hours after he’s usually up and about) by the time Steve’s finally showered and dressed. He’d joined Thor in his shower, and in between kisses, used his sandalwood soap, and afterward, the complementary lotion. Thor has a huge variety of skin-pampering products in his bathroom, and Steve realizes that he might have been missing out by stubbornly buying only Ivory soap just because it's been around forever. 

There’s a pleasant, almost electric prickle along his spine when he thinks about Thor, and he just can’t stop grinning. He’d done things over the last day that he hadn’t ever admitted to himself that he'd even want to try. (And he would never, ever admit to Tony that he’d picked up a few things from the films he’d sent over.) Thor had liked his attempts, it seemed. A lot. The way Thor kisses...and his body is like a work of art, but so warm and welcoming and. Well.

Well. If Thor hadn't been with him, he'd have had to turn the shower to ice. But instead, he'd come over Thor's fist under the warm wash of water. It had been incredible.

No one’s around or in the corridor when he returns to his own suite to find fresh clothes, and he remembers that everyone’s here and likely gathered in the main kitchen, as they do when this is the case. He has his own things to eat, and he’s quite frankly starving at that point, but Thor retrieves him and they make for the group breakfast. 

There’s no plan today, no pile of waffles on a platter, just grab-anything-and-stuff-your-face.

A few minutes later, they’re having a deep conversation about grapefruit knives; Thor plunks half of a fruit before each of them and digs in heartily, expressing his pleasure that such a tool exists as Steve gets a shiver out of the collision of toothpaste and citrus, when out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Natasha slap Clint’s bicep with the back of her wrist and communicate something to him, silently as usual.

"Seriously?" Clint says. “No. Really? Huh.”

Bruce continues to read and eat his cereal.

"Bruce, were you aware of this?" Clint asks.

"Aware of what?" he asks, not looking up.

"This," Clint says, gesturing. " _Them_." Bruce glances up at the movement and then at Thor and Steve, baffled. “C’mon, Banner. You worked on a college campus so you’ve gotta know. This? This is what just-got-laid looks like.”

Steve can feel his posture tighten, his shoulders rising. He clears his throat. "Really, that…isn't..." _Any of your business,_ he thinks of saying, but that seems rude, and he actually doesn’t care if the team know that he and Thor are...he thinks of the best way to phrase it... _in a relationship_. He guesses they are, at any rate. Is that what this is? He glances at Thor, who’s pointedly attacking his breakfast but concealing a smile. Thor is clearly amused by this, and Steve…well, he doesn’t mind either. Thor does that to him. And he's not embarrassed. It isn’t like the Commandos didn’t have the same sort of conversation after a night out on the town, some straggling back just before dawn. Maybe he still wouldn’t want to hold hands in the street. It's just that-

"But," Clint insists, "...nobody tells me anything!"

Steve clears his throat, and gives Thor a "bail me out, here" look, but Thor’s a speed-eater and is already readying another half-grapefruit from the giant tray of fruit, and Steve hands him a cherry to poke into the center. He likes garnishes, too. Steve feels kind of proud of himself for having noticed. Apparently he didn’t spend the last few months with blinders attached to his face. Just blinders about the most important thing.

"Nice observational skills, Hawkeye," says Natasha pointedly, flicking Clint's bicep with her fingers. “Good work. Stunning, really.”

"Ow. Also, not my job. Intel’s your job."

"Yes, Steven and I are dating," Thor says finally, after a hasty nod from Steve. It isn’t like he wants to deny this, play some hiding game like a kid. He can’t help coloring anyway under the weight of everyone’s attention. Is he that transparent? Is Thor? He turns and studies Thor again, trying to notice if anything’s different, but he can’t tell. Oh, well, Thor’s neck is marked, and that’s his fault. It’ll fade within the hour, probably.

So maybe he is that transparent. And they probably smell the same. Oops. It’s a good thing he’s not a spy, either.

"Oh. You are?" Bruce coughs, and raises an eyebrow. "Wow. Congratulations."

Gloating, Natasha snickers into a granola bar as Tony walks in. He grabs her wrist and she allows him to pull the bar up to his nose and sniff it before he makes a face.

"Do you mind, Stark? I'm trying to eat that."

"Why? Bet it tastes like cardboard dick," Tony remarks classily.

"It does," Clint confirms. "I had one. I _was_ going to have a leftover hot dog, but Natasha dog-blocked me."

It was cold, Clint." 

"Why did you save it?" Tony sniffed. "Are we out we out of Clint chow? Put more extruded meat on the shopping list." 

“Don’t be a snob, Tony,” Natasha chides. “You eat hot dogs.” 

“Yes, at ball games! Fresh ones. Not sad, wrinkled leftovers someone’s saved in tinfoil and hidden in the SubZero.” 

"I like yesterdogs," Clint admits with a shrug. "Circus thing." 

"You walked in just after an interesting revelation, Tony," Bruce says, trailing off before glancing at Steve and getting a shrug. "Thor and Steve are apparently uh...dating." 

Tony looks smug and utterly unsurprised, of course, because he knows both sides of the story already, and actually winks at Steve, who blushes harder, if that's possible. "Wow, this joint is a pit of rampant bisexuality," he says, pouring coffee into a mug. 

Bruce looks as if he’s about to ask who else is bisexual, but has another spoonful of shredded wheat instead. 

"Yeah, but Steve?" Clint shrugs. "You coming out, Cap? Can I be there when you tell Fury?" 

Steve can't find words at the moment. "I…um," Tony offers him a tiny salute. 

"Just explain that Captain America is all about equal opportunity." 

"He can just say he's a ‘people person’," Natasha adds, hand reaching across the table to cover Steve's, and it's reassuring. Nobody, none of them, mind that he and Thor are...seeing one another, he realizes. They're not going to judge him, or Thor either. They’re _family._ He exhales, and she offers a gentle smile. 

Tony leans over Natasha's shoulders familiarly, rests his head on hers. "Is Thor technically 'people' though? He's an alien from a different realm." Natasha rolls her eyes. "Though clearly, Captain American Way wouldn’t discriminate." 

"Neither would Thor," Clint says, through a bite of apple. "He's the one banging the thawed-out octogenarian." 

Thor chuckles at that, and Steve gives him a look of mock reprehension, which doesn’t work at _all_. 

"Missed opportunity for you, Beleg," says Tony. "Since you’re the one who likes cold hot dogs." 

Bruce makes a face. "Jesus, Tony. Eating." 

"Thor appreciates antiques, is all," Tony adds, giving Steve another wink. 

"I am much older, in absolute terms," Thor reminds him. The heat of his shoulder is pleasant against Steve’s own, and when he leans into its solidity, Thor presses back. 

"And a god of myth and legend." Natasha pats Steve's hand again. "This is very impressive, Steve. I doubt you'll be able to top Thor." 

"--which begs the question…" Tony starts, and Clint covers his ears, then stands and realizes he has to drop his hands to grab the jacket on the back of his chair. 

"La la la. No. No details. This is like hearing about my parents." 

"You don't have to tell anyone a thing," Natasha says, glancing at Thor and back at Steve. "Clint was joking. Your personal life is your own business, and it’s actually easier if you’re dating someone who knows you’re an Avenger. But if anyone starts seeing a villain, we would have no choice but to narc to Fury." 

"She probably already told him, through morse code on a secret thigh transmitter," Tony smirks, and Natasha flips him off backwards since he's still above her, and Steve realizes that Natasha gives Tony the finger at least twice a day. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the final chapter. There could be an epilogue one day because there's more to tell, but I think this is it for now (and I have [another WIP to finish](http://archiveofourown.org/works/537761/chapters/954941) first.) It's been fun writing Thor in an extended form for the first time, though I think his voice could have been improved upon and I would have liked to do more from his POV.
> 
> Thanks very much for sticking with this story. Concrit and feedback are welcome and appreciated greatly, as always! :)

The following weeks are quiet and mostly filled with internet research and the team’s efforts to assist Bruce with a lab project involving multiple DNA samples. How many times are they going to have to scrape their tongues for cells with tiny plastic shovels? Steve doesn’t know, but it certainly beats being jabbed in the arm and bled any day, he and Clint agree. Neither of them care much for needles.

Thor doesn’t take part. His DNA is structurally different, which Steve keeps forgetting. Even the serum didn’t change Steve’s DNA. He can’t wrap his head around the mythical God thing sometimes, though it’s not as if he hasn’t seen his share of belief-challenging things.

“There are ancient legends about you, Thor. _Mythology_ ,” he blurts one evening. Thor has brought out mead again, and though Steve doesn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, it’s been bugging him, just a bit. Thor’s god status wasn’t a thing that they spoke about. 

Thor laughs. “If you were to appear sometime in the past and were observed running at a superhuman speed or managing a very unlikely jump across a ravine, you might have been deified as well.”

Steve knows there’s much more to it than that, because Thor can control weather and fly and travel between planets and is possibly immortal as far as he knows, but Thor pulls a volume of Captain America comics from the bookshelf and chuckles. “Mythology and legend,” he says, raising a brow. “It is not so strange.”

*

Thor shoos Steve away one Sunday after they’ve sparred for several hours in the gym. “It is a surprise. Return at sunset.”

Steve checks his watch. It’s nearly one. “What for?”

“It has been two moons since we first came together,” Thor says playfully, and wow, it _has_ been two months, Steve realizes. It seems much longer, but in the best way. And of course they were friends before that. And apparently dating before he actually realized it. “Also, return hungry.”

Steve agrees, gets cleaned up, and finds Natasha in the common lounge reading a book he’d seen floating around the place. “Any good?” he asks.

“No. It’s Dan Brown and actually not my speed. But I was bored and I prefer bound books to the tablet.” Natasha tosses the novel aside with a grimace. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

 _Boyfriend_. It still sounds odd to Steve’s ear, even though it’s as good a word as any. “Partner” sounds like a business associate to him, and “lover,” well, no, that one’s out entirely. “He’s...making me a surprise dinner, I guess. It’s been two months since we started,” he pauses, “going out.” He squints at her. “Is that something now? Two month anniversaries?”

Natasha shrugs. “Not usually, unless you’re 15, or apparently, from Asgard. Do you think he’ll expect a gift? Besides wine, of course, because I know you’re going to bring a bottle of wine.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve hadn’t planned on wine, but he is now. “I don’t know. Maybe I should get him some kind of uh, anniversary present. What do you think? I’m sort of bad at this,” he admits.

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Natasha says, and her eyes take on a conspiratorial glint. “But I’m good at presents. Come on; we can take one of Stark’s cars. Ever ridden in a Saleen S7?” 

*

There’s over an hour to kill before Thor expects him, and heck if he knows if he’s supposed to dress up or something, so he decides to take a bath.

He knows that long baths aren’t popular anymore, exactly; everybody seems to go for showers these days, and Steve loves a shower himself. But after field showers during wartime that felt like tepid spit, there’s almost nothing he enjoys better than a long, hot soak. Bruce had noticed him poking through the bath salts at the grocery store once, and Steve had drawn his hand back from the shelf in the most inconspicuous way he knew how before Bruce suggested one with sweet almond oil in it. “I love the jets,” Bruce had said. “The tubs in the Tower are amazing, huh? We’re all getting pretty spoiled.” 

Steve hadn’t even realized that the bathtub _had_ jets. It had been a great day when he got back to the Tower and pulled the jacuzzi instructions from the folder in the drawer next to the sink.

Relaxed and freshly attired in a pressed white shirt and blue pants, he appears at Thor’s. Thor has a dishtowel over his shoulder and looks apprehensive. Steve’s not sure why; if dinner doesn’t work out, they’ll just go to a restaurant. It’s not like he can cook anything fancy himself aside from pancakes and a mean omelet, but that would be fine too if Thor’s as hungry as he is.

“You’re early,” Thor says, and Steve isn’t, actually, but dinner clearly isn’t ready, so he offers to help. Turns out it’s salad, along with meatloaf and potatoes, painstakingly created from a recipe on the internet, because Thor never misses a trick. And it’s delicious. Well, it’s a little dry, but it’s much better than Steve could have managed, and that’s what the gravy’s for. 

They open Steve’s wine, and he gives Thor a card with a thunderbolt slicing through a cartoon heart on the front (and hell, he could have just drawn something like that, but the card shop’s offering was perfect) and a Starkpad mount made of a carved log. Thor adores it. 

And Steve. 

“I adore you,” Thor says, when they’re stretched out on the sofa afterward. Before Steve can reply except with a blush, he adds, “I would like my family to meet you.”

“When?” Steve asks, suddenly anxious. “Are they coming here?”

“My mother and father will not leave Asgard when I am not there, for anything less than a catastrophe. The bifrost has been rebuilt, but with Loki imprisoned, there is no one they trust to watch over the realm.”

“Your mother. She does that when Odin sleeps?” Steve tries. He’s not exactly sure what that’s all about.

“She does indeed. She deems it exhausting.”

“And she raised you two jerks. Nothing could have been more exhausting than that.” Steve nudges Thor, gets a grin out of him. It’s to his credit that he can joke about Loki, Steve thinks. It isn’t like he wants to sit around and play cards with the fellow, but he and Thor did grow up together before everything went south. Thor can’t help being fond of his brother, even though he’s still angry about his actions.

Thor chuckles. “Stark would like to visit Asgard. I informed him that there were no cheeseburgers.” Tony’s weekly fast-food burger habit was by now legend. “He urged me to encourage a McDonald’s franchise, as there is a theory that two places with a McDonald’s will not war among themselves.”

“Disproven,” Steve snorts, mentally listing exceptions to the Golden Arches theory of international warfare he’d read about. “US and Panama first, in the 1990s. Uh, General...Noriega.”

“No arches, but we do have pillars made of gold at my father’s home. And I see the history lessons have sunk in well,” Thor says with a nod, and Steve’s proud of that. He thinks he ought to know these things, even though he’d slept through them. Knowing more helps put things into perspective, helps the current culture make more sense. 

“Asgard, huh?” Steve muses. “What’ll I pack? How’s the climate?”

Thor laughs, hand encircling Steve’s knee. “Nothing! You will have all that you need.”

“Mmm,” Steve nods and twines their fingers together. “Speaking of that, d’you want...” It’s pretty smooth, he thinks. Maybe he’s improving at this, too.

“Bed?”

“Yes.”

 

It’s different this time; Thor seems to be holding back, or holding off. “Something wrong?” Steve asks, between breathless kisses. 

“No,” Thor rubs his hand over Steve’s bicep, kisses him again, sweet and heady. “Yes.”

Steve leans back to look into Thor’s eyes. “What is it?” 

“There is something I desire...” Thor trails off, and runs a palm against Steve’s chest, and his eyes say he isn’t sure if Steve will like whatever it is.

When Thor goes quiet and tentative like this...this is something almost no one else gets to see, because Thor is nearly always brash and forthright and outspoken. Steve feels a hot punch of arousal, straight to the gut, and lower, to his cock, and stops himself from rutting shamelessly against the hard curve of Thor’s hip. He can’t think of anything he doesn’t _want_ to do in Thor’s bed, but then he considers some of the kinkier things in Tony’s movie discs, and waits patiently for an explanation.

He drops down to press a kiss to Thor’s neck, and he shifts beneath, ghosting words against Steve’s ear. “I desire...” and then he shows him, takes Steve’s hand and guides it, and the instruction is unmistakable. But that’s something Steve wants too; it’s not as if he hasn’t thought about trying that, sometime. 

“I haven’t --” Steve pauses, words tight in his throat, heart pounding. “Show me how you like it.”He bites back a groan as he assists with getting Thor ready, matching his movements, but it doesn’t take very long. Surprising, because when they’d begun he didn’t think it would work, but clearly it will. 

_He’s gorgeous,_ Steve thinks, smooth expanse of golden skin and jumping muscle he wants to just...lick. He moves slowly, but things somehow get easier after a few moments when Thor relaxes and Steve finds a spot that makes Thor gasp and then, finally, a rhythm. Thor is hot and tight and perfect, and shows him the arch of his neck as his eyes flutter shut.

Steve thinks that he might be up for trying things the other way around, if the look on Thor's face is any indication of what this feels like.

Sweat-slicked, breath slowing at last, Steve tucks his chin against Thor’s chest, running his hand up to capture a hank of his hair and let it slip between his fingers. “So what’ll you do to butter me up on our three-month anniversary?” Because Thor absolutely made this whole anniversary deal up, thinking that he had to, for some reason, to set the night up as something special, so he could ask for what he wanted. Steve wonders if it was the result of someone on the team (oh god, did he ask Tony?) or some Thor-logic he’s not (yet) privy to. 

Thor smiles, slow as sunrise. “Three month anniversaries are not a very...big deal.”

*

They travel to Washington to see the World War II memorial, and while they’re there, a quartet of drones pop up nearby. Tony’s hanging out with Rhodey over the weekend, so Iron Man and Iron Patriot (“War Machine!” “Iron Patriot. Stop. Just stop that.”) meet Thor and Cap in Georgetown, where the eight-foot-tall Hammertech bots have, for some mysterious reason, gone haywire and completely leveled a bar popular with local students. Luckily, no one’s hurt, but the last drone to fall manages to key into a digital jukebox and blare the same song for the better part of an hour at top volume.

“I do not mind these battles,” Thor says once the jukebox dies out, “but am not sure why the military isn’t summoned in our stead. Is this not the center of the country’s armed forces?” Steve shrugs. He’s in the Army in rank name only, these days, and Fury had asked them to do this. 

“People tend to freak when troops storm a neighborhood,” Rhodey points out, “but strangely, they’re getting used to seeing you guys. Though Justin Hammer needs to stop getting military contracts because of his shit going rogue all the damn time. It’s seriously getting old.”

“Agreed,” Tony says, lifting his helmet and kicking a drone arm away with a clank. “Lowest goddamn bidder. Also, if I never hear Don Henley again, ever, it’ll be too soon.”

“Well, it wasn’t that bad, really,” Rhodey says.

“You just like the Eagles because you lost your virginity to Hotel Calif-” Tony’s words are cut off when Rhodey slaps his faceplate down, and Iron Man’s voice finishes, turning to Steve and Thor: “-fornia to Desiree Blonsky in my dad’s study.”

“Wow. You can’t keep anything secret. I’m making sure all of your defense contracts get cancelled.”

“Aww, honeybear,” simpers Iron Man’s digitized voice.

“Not kidding. In the immortal words of Plato, ‘snitches get stitches',” Rhodey says. 

“Then you’d be stuck with Hammertech, wouldn’t you?” Tony lifts his visor again. “Good luck with that.”

Steve’s comm beeps and he pulls it out of the back of his gauntlet. “It’s Fury.” He presses the speaker button. “Operation complete, sir.”

“You coming back to New York, Captain?” Fury asks.

“To debrief? Well, Thor and I were...” They had plans. They’d seen most of the sights in DC, but the reservation at their hotel was for two more nights.

“It can wait until you both return. And speaking of you and Thor, it’s not a debrief,” Fury said, and clicked off.

“Hoshit,” Tony whistles. “You in trouble for fraternizing, team leader?”

Steve’s breath catches and he can feel a wash of red creeping up his neck, which shouldn’t be happening at all at this point, because hell, he’d acknowledged that he has a _boyfriend_ and it is now the twenty-teens, if that’s what you call this decade. The team had assured both him and Thor that their relationship didn’t matter to them. He certainly didn’t treat Thor any differently in the field, or at least he didn’t think he did. The comm beeped again. “Natasha.” 

“I suppose you’re aware that Fury knows about you two.”

Tony leans in towards the comm. “Snitches get stitches, Natasha. I believe it was Buckminster Fuller who first said that.” Rhodey looks like he wants to give Tony a knock on the arm, but that probably doesn’t work the same in the suits. Steve just feels exhausted.

“I didn’t squawk, Stark,” Natasha’s voice is dry. “I told you it doesn’t matter anyway. But guess what? Fury saw your HUD feed.” Steve catches Thor’s eye. When Rhodey had blocked Steve’s fall from the roof and deposited him inside the bar, Thor had rushed in with a relieved expression, picked up his gloved hand and pressed his lips to it, and Steve had grabbed his face and kissed him back properly in return, to Iron Man’s thumbs up as Boys of Summer blared from the speakers for the twentieth time. (Honestly, Thor had been worried for nothing. There was a ledge. Steve was pretty sure he would have caught it with his fingers if Iron Patriot hadn’t grabbed him.)

“So, this is my fault now?” Tony protests. 

“Yes,” says Natasha, and Thor slowly flips Tony off, grinning all the while.

“Classic,” Rhodey says. “I wish I’d recorded that.” Thor cheerfully repeats the motion for Rhodey’s HUD camera.

“Wow,” Tony mutters, shaking his head. “Natasha is a really bad influence.”

*

Steve tries to put Fury’s words aside, but they prey on his mind, and they go back to New York a day early anyway. Tony had chided them about renting a car when there were nine --  
“I have nine cars, Thor. _Nine_. I can only drive one at a time” -- in the downstairs garage, but Steve had felt odd about borrowing something so valuable when they certainly had the money to pay for a rental.

“Tell me you at least got a cool ride, like a convertible Jag or a Humvee or something,” Tony asks over coffee in the big team kitchen when they return. 

“It was a Nissan Maxima,” Thor says. “Silver. It was very comfortable.”

Tony gives an exaggerated shudder of horror. “Oh my god.”

Steve checks the time. “Well, the day’s not getting any longer. I’d better get this over with.”

“Sure,” Tony says. “Do you want us to go with you? United front?”

Thor stands. “I will go.”

Steve shakes his head, giving Thor’s hand a quick grasp-and-squeeze before heading for the elevator. “Thanks, but no. I’ve got it.”

He walks to HQ; it takes longer than a taxi would even in traffic, but Steve collects his thoughts along the way, and grows angrier the closer he gets. By the time he’s in Fury’s office waiting for the man to return from Ops “in a few minutes,” he’s practically seething.

“My personal life is none of SHIELD’s business,” he begins when Fury sits across from him. Fury leans forward and nails Steve with his stare as the words rush out. “I’m not in the Army anymore, but the rules have changed there, too. And you know what? I haven’t signed papers with SHIELD, so I don’t have to take this. At any rate, I’m not going to hide when we’re not in view of the television cameras.” 

Fury blinks. “No one is asking you to, Captain.”

“Why am I here, then?”

“Two things.” Fury picks up a pen and points it at Steve. “First off, whether you’re gay or bi-curious or it’s a phase or it’s just this one guy, like the way Louis C.K. feels about Ewan McGregor, I really don’t give a rat’s ass.”

Steve clenches his fists on the armrests of his chair.

“...however, Agent Romanoff’s insistence that SHIELD has no business in the personal lives of the staff is well-meaning, but misguided. The woman’s a spy; she knows better.”

“Colonel Fury-”

“I’m not finished. There’s no concern about fraternization; hell, half of Level Six’s dated somebody else on the job, and you’re both Level Seven, if you were technically regular SHIELD staff, which you are not, but you are SHIELD assets.”

“I know, but I’m the leader. I-” If they take this away from him...

“You are the team’s field leader. You even have the power to bench other members. However, I don’t expect that you’re ever anything other than fair, because I’d have heard the whining from here. So that’s not the issue.”

Fury pauses, twisting the pen. “Suppose somebody kidnaps you, holds you hostage, or Thor? We need to know what the hell’s up with the dynamics, going in. Or one of you gets hurt? I don’t know how serious this thing is, but I assure you, I was aware when Ms Potts and Mr Stark went from employee and employer to a couple, because that can change the situation and the stakes, you read me?”

Steve nods, taking a breath. “Yeah, I do.”

“Second, or third,” Fury drops the pen. “SHIELD has an internal LGBT organization and support for both of you. So pass that along if you want to take advantage of it. Contact information is on the intranet. I’m sure Stark can show you how to find that.”

“I know how to to use it, Colonel.”

“We do not, however, have much guidance on relationships with aliens, so you’re on your own there.”

Steve sits back in his chair, tapping fingers on the armrest. “Do you expect us to be...discreet?”

“Under our aegis we’ve got a man wanted by the DoD who turns into a rage beast living in a glass tower in the middle of the city and we’ve also got,” Fury pauses on a sigh. “Tony Stark.”

His expression softens. “It’s your business whether you’re on the downlow or not, Cap. But you plan to come out, you tell me first, in case there are resultant threats. Times have changed, but not everybody got the memo. I know the Avengers can take care of themselves, but we’ve got your backs. Both of you. All of you. Clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“And thank you again for handling that drone cleanup in the District. Son-of-a-bitching-Hammer.”

“Yes,” Steve agrees readily, relieved. “He’s a real asshole.” 

Fury stares at him for a second, and then bursts into laughter, cackling so hard he has to wipe away a tear.

*

Steve walks back with a spring in his stride. It’s a beautiful day, after all. He stops at a store that sells music and movies and pokes through the racks for something he and Thor can watch tonight, settling on an adventure with pirates for something different.

There’s a poster up promoting a horror film, and the actor in the front looks a little like Bucky. Steve studies it more carefully, and it’s not even much of a resemblance. Steve knows that, but it spurs a flash of want -- not...like that, not at all, not anymore, if that’s what it was back then. He wishes he could turn and see Bucky come through the door and talk, maybe go out for a beer at that old place in Brooklyn they used to like if it’s still there, or someplace near it. He’s pretty sure that Bucky wouldn’t judge Steve. He never had. 

If things had gone another way, Steve would be fortunate to even be around in 2013. Bucky too, though Peggy’s alive and in a rest home. Maybe he’ll ask Thor to go with him when he visits her one day, if he can somehow make sure it’ll be good for her to see him and not just the selfish reverse. It’s too late to say some things, he figures. Too late to tell Bucky anything, either.

 

“How did everything go?” Thor asks him when he returns. His voice is normal but his eyes apprehensive, and maybe Steve’s answering hug is sudden, but Thor drops his forehead to his, and he’s just...really glad to be home. 

“Fine,” Steve says, opening his eyes after a long moment. “Everything is fine. I love you.”

*

Asgard is like Steve had imagined, and nothing like Steve had imagined. Thor’s descriptions were grandiose for sure, but hadn’t really done the place justice. 

Time flows differently here, he learns, and the days they spend here are a longer period on Midgard, on _Earth._ Heimdall vows to alert them if there’s trouble there, but either everything’s quiet or the team has it all under control. 

He spars with Sif and Thor and the Warriors Three, Thor laughing as Steve, clad in Aesir battle armor, blocks Hogun’s whirring mace with his shield, then ducks and rolls to dodge Sif’s sword. They’ll be visiting New York soon, they promise. Steve can’t wait for the rest of the team to meet them; Tony’ll flip his lid when the Warriors appear at the Tower one day.

“I’ve seen one of yours, in the Land of Enchantment,” Sif informs him. “The one they call Hawkeye.” 

“She fancies him,” Volstagg says, and Sif delivers a kick to his hip, knocking him sideways. 

“I merely admire his skill with the bow,” she hisses, turning her head infinitesimally as Fandral makes lewd gestures to the contrary behind her back. “ _I sense that, Fandral._ ”

“Clint is very well-skilled indeed,” Thor says with a diplomatic nod, and Steve catches Sif trying the name on silently. He doesn’t think that Clint and Natasha are together, but something tells him he’d better find out before the Asgardians show up.

Thor goes to visit Loki in his prison and Steve declines the offer to accompany him, which he realizes was made out of politeness. Kind words to Thor aside, Loki’s responsible for a deadly attack that got more than personal. He trusts himself not to put his fist through what he’s told is a glass barrier, but only just.

He takes a rest the next day just to lean against a pillar on a balcony overlooking the glittering city and draw the skyline and the sky itself. Thor takes an abundance of pictures with his Starkphone, which he’d remembered to bring for that purpose.

Thor’s parents warm to him after the first banquet evening, which is unbelievably awkward. It’s not like Steve has ever had to meet the family of someone he’s seeing before. It makes him feel like he’s tiny again and trying to impress his worth on somebody holding a 4F stamp. Odin seems gruff at first, but then the ice breaks and they get on like a house on fire.

 

Thor isn’t surprised in the least. It’s impossible for anyone not to love Steve. He knows that better than anyone in the Nine Realms.


End file.
